


Trust Doesn't Rust

by Morgan Briarwood (morgan32)



Category: Jennifer's Body (2009), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Big Bang Challenge, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan%20Briarwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Anita "Needy" Lesnicki, life really sucks. Six months ago she was your average high school girl. That was before her best friend Jennifer turned into a demon and ate Needy's boyfriend at the prom. Now Needy has escaped from a nuthouse, she's wanted for murder (they totally deserved it), she's got some kind of demonic infection and she's on the run with no money, no car and nothing to wear but a bright orange prison jump suit. She's pretty sure her life sucks the worst. But then she runs into Sam Winchester, ex-demon-blood junkie, ex-hero and ex-antichrist. His story (the Apocalypse, seriously?) makes the last few months of Needy's life seem like a trip to Disneyland. Meanwhile, Dean Winchester is trying to figure out just what kind of supernatural creature slaughtered the members of a successful a rock band, unaware that the trail will lead him right where he doesn't want to go: back to his estranged brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My story for   
> [](http://community.livejournal.com/sncross_bigbang/profile)[**sncross_bigbang**](http://community.livejournal.com/sncross_bigbang/) 2010\. [A soundtrack for the story can be found on my Dreamwidth](http://briarwood.dreamwidth.org/166337.html)

### Part One 

All alone in an empty room  
Nothing left but the memories of when  
I had my best friend.  
I don’t know how we ended up here.  
I don’t know but it’s never been so clear  
We made a mistake, dear.

Low Shoulder, _Through The Trees_

####  _Madison, Wisconsin_

Dean lifted the yellow police tape and, ignoring its _Do Not Cross_ warning, ducked beneath it. One of the uniformed cops on the other side of the tape moved to intercept him.

Dean whipped out the fake FBI credentials from inside his suit. “Special Agent Mosley, FBI. Who’s in charge here?” He flashed the badge at the cop.

The cop barely glanced at the badge. “Detective Spencer is in the suite. No one told us to expect the FBI.”

Dean gave his best sarcastic smile. “Well, I was just passing by and thought I’d drop in and make your day,” he drawled. “The suite is this way?” He gestured down the hallway.

“I’ll escort you,” the cop insisted.

The last thing Dean needed was a babysitter, but he kept his mouth shut and started walking. It was a nice, modern hotel: there was thick carpet pile beneath his feet as he walked and the walls were lined with mirrors and framed pictures. Dean paid little attention to the setting. He knew exactly where he needed to go – he could smell the blood already. It was a good thing he’d seen the news before he ordered that second cheeseburger.

There were more cops hanging around outside the crime scene but they let Dean and his police escort pass. The door to the suite stood open and the first thing Dean saw was the wide streak of blood on the cream-coloured carpet. Beside the blood, black tape outlined the shape of a body, but the bodies had already been removed from the scene. That was a relief: Dean could handle a gory crime scene but this room smelled foul enough without adding fresh corpse to the mix. It wasn’t only the smell of blood and shit: there was spilled beer, cigarette smoke and marijuana, sex and stale sweat.

Detective Spencer turned out to be a man in his fifties who shaved his head to disguise his baldness and looked like he was a little too fond of greasy food. He intercepted Dean as he stepped over the first streak of blood.

“Hey! Get out of my crime scene!”

Dean produced the FBI credentials again. “I just want a look around, Detective. Can you tell me what you’ve got here?”

“A whole lot of dead bodies is what we’ve got here,” Spencer growled. “What does the FBI want with this?”

Dean glanced at the wall where tape outlined another body against the floor and wall. “Your victims are connected to another case,” he improvised.

Spencer looked interested. “I’d like to hear about that.”

“I can’t tell you much. Talk to me about the murders first.”

Spencer nodded. “The victims are all members of a rock band. Low Shoulder. They were playing a concert here in town. Came back to the hotel about 2am, ordered a lot of alcohol on room service which was delivered…” he checked his notebook, “…at 2:35. That’s the last anyone knows until around 4am, when seven young women – fans, apparently – came up here and tried to break into their suite. Lucky for all of us, hotel security followed ’em up and stopped it. One of the security guards saw blood beneath the door so he opened the room.”

Dean gave a little smirk. “I bet he really regretted that.” They were walking around the room as Spencer talked. Dean hadn’t seen many massacre sites this fresh, but it looked…wrong. Supernatural kind of wrong, but then, that was why he was there.

There was another body-shape marked out beneath the window. Dean crouched down beside it, pretending to examine the blood spatter while he checked for sulphur. Then he _did_ look at the blood spatter, because he thought he could tell how this one died. It looked as if the guy had been facing the room when someone sliced his throat. But if someone came at you with a knife, wouldn’t you try to run? Or at least block the blow? He frowned.

“Did you have a blood expert look at this?” Dean asked. It would be good to have his suspicion confirmed. Dean’s guess came from observation and experience, but he could be wrong.

“Not yet. Our spatter analyst will come in when everyone else is done.” Spencer waited for Dean’s acknowledgement before he went on. “The murder weapon was a bowie knife. The killer left it in the chest of the last vic.” Spencer nodded toward another body-shape.

“Did you find defensive wounds on the bodies?” Dean asked, again looking for confirmation. He could see they didn’t have time to defend themselves. Spencer was useless. Dean was going to need to hack into the police reports to find out what he really needed to know here.

“Hard to say. Multiple wounds on most of them…” Spencer went on to describe the condition of the bodies in rather more detail than Dean wanted. He got the important points, though: one killer, armed with a bowie knife, multiple wounds on all victims, suggesting the killer took his time over each kill, but five men, even if they were drunk or stoned, wouldn’t have just stayed put while their buddies were slaughtered.

No. Whatever did this was either so fast the massacre took mere seconds or it used some kind of spell or psychic ability to keep them all passive or oblivious while it did this. Either way, the killer wasn’t human.

Dean searched the suite as best he could with half a dozen cops hanging around watching his every move. The rooms were a mess, like there had been some serious partying going on before the bloodbath. The party debris gave Dean an excuse to look around carefully, but he found no signs of witchcraft and no sulphur. At least, there was nothing in the rooms where the bodies were found. In one of the bedrooms, he did find a collection of occult books. He glanced through them with Detective Spencer looking over his shoulder the whole time. Most of the books were rubbish: fake black magic made up by Goths and Wicca wannabes. The dead men were a rock band; Dean figured this was their way of pretending they were cool. A bunch of image-conscious, pretentious idiots.

He returned the books to the bag where he found them, and as he did, he caught sight of a page that must have fallen out of one of them. He pulled the page out and had to bite back an exclamation he couldn’t have explained to the hovering cop. This he recognised. He pretended to replace the page but hid it in his sleeve.

Dean took one last glance around the room, but he had learned all he could here. It was time to start the real research.

Damn, he missed having Sam around. The big geek actually loved this part.

*

“I don’t know, Bobby.” Dean switched the cell phone to his left ear, using his right hand to type on his laptop. The laptop was one of the few things Sam took with him when he left; this was a new one and Dean was still getting used to a computer without all Sam’s little customisations. “Whatever cut those guys to ribbons sure ain’t human, but I didn’t find any of the usual signs. No sulphur. No missing organs. No nothing.”

“So maybe the killer _is_ human,” Bobby suggested. “You said you smelled weed. Maybe that wasn’t all they were smokin’.”

“I thought of that, but…” Dean bit back a curse as he hit a firewall. Damn it! He’d gotten too used to letting Sammy do this stuff. He was a fair hacker back when he worked with Dad, but times and technology had moved on and Dean hadn’t kept up his skills because Sam was so much better at it anyway. He’d never planned for the day when Sam wouldn’t be at his side.

Being apart from Sam was necessary, Dean told himself. The past year had been too much. Sam’s lack of faith in him, all the lies and deceit: they couldn’t be scrubbed away with an apology. Nothing was going to fix it. The rift between them was too deep now.

And Dean was doing great without Sam! He worked that one case with Castiel and had so much fun… But Dean knew he wasn’t fooling himself. He was supposed to be with Sam. When Sam wasn’t at his side, he left a hole so big no one else could fill it.

“I don’t know,” Dean said again. “The cops have a security vid that shows someone leaving the suite about the time of the murders. Thing is, it’s a girl. She’s a tiny thing, looks like high school age. If she was possessed it would make sense, but – ”

“But no sulphur,” Bobby concluded for him.

“Right,” Dean confirmed, then something else struck him. “And those guys were Goths; I’ll bet at least one of them was wearing a pentagram.” A pentagram wasn’t a true devil’s trap, but it _was _a protective amulet.

Bobby was silent for a moment. “Let me look into it. There are a few demonic things that don’t leave the usual traces. Better check out that girl, too.”

“The cops don’t even know who she is, yet.”

“And why is that stopping you?”

_Sometimes you sound just like my dad_, Dean thought, but he would never say such a thing aloud. Bobby would take it all wrong. “It isn’t,” he answered. “Let me know what you find.”

“I will.” Bobby hung up.

Dean stared at his silent phone and uncooperative computer. Suddenly he felt very alone. Sam was who-knows-where. Cas was off searching for God…as if that wasn’t a goddamn snipe hunt. And Bobby. He almost sounded like his old self on the phone. Almost. He was still in the game, but it wasn’t the same. Bobby wasn’t the same.

But he was still one of the smartest hunters Dean had ever met, and that included John Winchester.

Check out that girl.

Dean pulled up the security footage again. He couldn’t hack the police records, but the hotel had been easy. He watched again as the gang of squealing groupies ran down the corridor away from the camera. Then she appeared, walking in the opposite direction. She moved as if she didn’t even see the other girls, her eyes fixed on a point ahead of her. She was kinda pretty, if a bit jailbait. He slowed the footage as she got closer, viewing it frame by frame. There was a look in her eyes in the one clear shot the camera got. A look that made Dean think, yes, she was the killer. It was a look that reminded him, oddly, of Sam.

So who was she?

He hadn’t been able to hack the Madison police network, but there were national and state police databases he did know how to access. Not expecting much, Dean ran a search for missing girls in Wisconsin. After a moment’s thought, he added Illinois, Iowa and Minnesota to the search parameters as well. While he waited for the results, he cracked open a beer and googled the dead rock band: Low Shoulder. They had their own website on MySpace. _Of course_ they did. Dean started one of their songs streaming, but stopped it after thirty seconds, disgusted. Teenage, emo crap.

His search for missing girls got half a million hits.

It took him a while to narrow all that down. It was frustrating, because he kept thinking that Sam would have found the girl in five minutes. It took Dean several hours, but finally he had a name: Anita Lesnicki. He googled her, thinking he might get lucky and find her Facebook page or something. Instead, he found himself staring at an online article from a Minnesota state newspaper. There were two photographs, but without the captions Dean wouldn’t have known they were the same girl.

The first was a school yearbook photograph. It showed a smiling blue-eyed teenager, pretty in spite of her rather ugly glasses, with long blonde hair loose around her shoulders and a gold heart on a chain around her neck. The second picture was fuzzy: a snapshot taken with a cell phone. It showed the girl in handcuffs being led onto a prison transport. Her hair was lank and unwashed and she wasn’t smiling this time. Rather, she stared into the camera, a haunted, angry look.

Dean skimmed the article accompanying the photographs. Anita Lesnicki killed another girl, Jennifer Check. Stabbed her in the heart with a box cutter of all things. There was no clear motive for the murder and Lesnicki refused to explain.

Why would a demon stab a high school cheerleader and then stick around to be arrested? It didn’t make sense. Re-reading the article, the name of the town jumped out at him, because it was such a twisted name: Devil’s Kettle. Then he frowned. He’d seen that name somewhere before.

The Low Shoulder website! He still had the MySpace page open in another window. He switched, and clicked through the links until he found the reference again. The band members had been playing at a club in Devil’s Kettle when a fire broke out. A lot of people died. The band helped some others to escape the flames. After that, they became heroes to the town, and that seemed to help the music sales. They got famous, at least locally. They released a single as a charity thing for the town.

So there was the connection: Low Shoulder were linked to Devil’s Kettle, and that was where Anita Lesnicki lived. But it didn’t explain the slaughter in that hotel.

Dean shut down the laptop and finished his beer. He would get some sleep, and then hit the road.

*

####  _Devil’s Kettle, Minnesota_

Three weeks later than he had planned, Dean drove past a faded wooden sign welcoming him to the small town of Devil’s Kettle, population 7035. The small town, situated a short way north of Lake Superior, took its name from the unique waterfall in the hills above the town. The Brule River split into two; half of it tumbling over an ordinary waterfall and eventually draining into Lake Superior, the other half vanishing into a whirlpool, a hole so deep no one knew where the water ended up. That hole was known as the Devil’s Kettle.

Knowing the origin of the name did nothing to stop the chill that ran through Dean as he sped past the sign. The Devil – the _real_ Devil – was out there and place names like this no longer seemed the least bit amusing.

Dean was three weeks late getting into town because he’d been sidetracked by a gang of demons who were busy partying down in Ohio. Since it was Castiel who alerted him to the party, Dean abandoned his case to drive down and take care of it. Eight exorcisms later he burned and buried the bodies and began to drive north once more. Now, here he was.

He drove past the burned-out wreck of a building and hoped it wasn’t the town’s motel. Someone had erected a chicken-wire fence around the remains, and the fence was covered with flowers and photographs and shit like that. Dean guessed it was some kind of memorial to whoever died in the fire.

It wasn’t the town’s motel. Turned out Devil’s Kettle didn’t have one. That was inconvenient.

Over a burger and fries in the only diner he found, Dean learned that the burned building had been the local music “club”, Melody Lane, and the fence full of flowers was the town’s tribute to Low Shoulder. Dean remembered reading about the fire on the band’s MySpace. Their site described them as the heroes of the evening, risking their lives to pull the good citizens of Devil’s Kettle out of the flames.

Dean had his doubts about that. In his experience, real heroes didn’t boast about their heroism. (Except maybe to get laid.)

The fire, though, that interested him. Nothing in Dean’s research proved the fire was of supernatural origin: the fire department’s official report claimed an electrical short was the most likely origin of the fire, and the volume of flammable liquid (read: alcohol) in the bar combined with the age of the timbers was responsible for the rapid spread. It all sounded very logical, but Dean had his suspicions because of what happened later and because he was _always_ suspicious of fatal fires. Some creatures killed in cycles, decades or even centuries apart. An incident in which a lot of people died sometimes kicked off the next cycle.

Not long after the Melody Lane fire, a high school boy, Jonas Kozelle, was murdered in the woods behind the school. The body was found partially eaten. There was one witness – a teacher who heard screams, investigated and found the body – but no one could figure out what kind of animal killed the boy. That fact alone would have told any hunter it wasn’t an animal at all.

Six weeks later, another high school boy died. Colin Gray’s body was found in an empty house, surrounded by – of all things – nearly a hundred lit candles. It looked like the kid went to a lot of trouble to build his love nest, but something found him before his girlfriend turned up.

Or maybe the something _was_ the girlfriend, Dean thought, remembering it was Anita Lesnicki’s trail which led him to the town.

Chip Dove was murdered two weeks later on the night of the high school prom. Another high school boy, another isolated location, but though there was a hell of a lot of blood, his body wasn’t dismembered or eaten like the other two. Was the creature interrupted? Or was this a different killer? It was difficult to guess.

The final murder victim in Devil’s Kettle was Jennifer Check, high school slut, cheerleader and all-round Dean’s perfect woman. Again, it was hard to guess if her death was part of the pattern. She wasn’t a boy, nor was she dismembered. And she was killed in her own bedroom. In this case, though, the killer _was_ interrupted: her mom walked in and saw it. She identified the killer as Anita Lesnicki. But that was the weird part, to Dean. If Anita Lesnicki was something inhuman, why didn’t she kill the mom, too? And if she wasn’t, why kill the girl who by all reports was her closest friend?

Well, questions like that were why Dean was in Devil’s Kettle. When he left the diner he drove back to that burned-out bar. He parked the Impala a short distance away from the wreckage where he could see the road in both directions, and settled down to watch.

Several people walked by while Dean waited in his car, but it wasn’t until around 4.30 that someone stopped there. They were three girls, all of them high-school age, laughing together as they came down the street. They turned self-consciously serious as they came near to the burned building with its impromptu memorial. One of them, a petite Asian-American girl, pulled a large candle out of her bag. The tallest of the group, a blonde, used a disposable cigarette lighter to set a flame to the candle. Together they placed the candle beneath one of the photographs pinned to the fence. The girls stayed there, silent, huddled into a group together.

Dean grabbed a notebook from under the dash and walked over to where the girls stood. “Hey,” he smiled when he reached them. “I’m Dean Wright, Weekly World News. Can I talk to you, girls?” He flipped open the notebook.

Candle-girl’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” she answered, then the blonde caught her eye and her face fell. “I mean,” she mumbled reluctantly, “I guess so. Depends what you want.”

“What _do_ you want?” the blonde demanded, her tone hostile.

Maybe posing as a reporter hadn’t been the best plan. Dean turned his best winning smile on the blonde. “Hey, I’m not going to quote you if you don’t want me to. I’m just looking to get a feel for how the town is dealing with…” he gestured toward the memorial wall, letting the gesture finish his sentence. This close to the wall he could examine the contents more closely. There were plastic-wrapped photographs of Low Shoulder cut from magazines and newspapers; there were flowers, some real and some plastic, worked into the gaps in the fence; there were cards with handwritten tributes; teddy bears and other stuffed toys; and some weird thing made out of ribbons that Dean just couldn’t figure out. But among all that crap, he saw other things, too: pictures of the high school kids who had died.

Candle-girl spoke up again. “It’s just…hard to take in, you know? I mean, we all loved Low Shoulder and they were so generous to this town. How could someone do that to them?”

Dean nodded, ignoring the question. “I heard they saved some people’s lives in that fire,” he prompted.

“They did! They were so brave…”

“No, they didn’t, Chastity,” the brunette interjected. “I was at Melody Lane that night and I didn’t see them help anyone except – ”

“Just because you didn’t see it, Valerie, doesn’t mean it isn’t true!”

Dean interrupted before it could descend into a cat fight. “Except who, Valerie?”

“It doesn’t matter. No one cares about what really happened.”

Candle-girl – Chastity – pulled at her sleeve. “Val, don’t speak ill of the dead.”

“I care.” Dean smiled winningly. “Your name’s Valerie?”

“Yes.”

“You said you didn’t see them help anyone except…?”

Valerie looked at Chastity, then back to Dean. “Jennifer. She went off with them in their van after the fire. She was always doing dumb stuff like that.”

“This Jennifer,” Dean asked lightly. “Do you know where I can find her?”

“In the graveyard,” the blonde said bluntly, confirming Dean’s suspicion.

“Oh!” He tried for mild surprise. “You meant Jennifer Check. I heard about what happened to her. It’s awful.” He paused then added, “Were you friends?”

“Come on,” the blonde said. “Let’s go.”

Chastity looked at Dean again. He could tell she wanted to talk, probably for the chance of getting her name in print. He scrawled his cell phone number in the notebook, ripped out the page and offered it to her. “I’d like to hear more, if you’re interested. Give me a call.”

She took the paper. “Okay.”

It was time to go. “You girls have a nice day,” Dean told them. He headed back to his car, feeling their eyes on him the whole way. He hadn’t learned much, but it was still early. Jennifer Check was connected to Low Shoulder. That was new. And the unfortunately-named Chastity would tell him more when she called. He had no doubt at all that she _would_ call.

Now Dean needed to learn more about Jennifer Check and Anita Lesnicki. He was going to have to talk to the high school cheerleaders. Man, the sacrifices he made for a hunt…

*

Since Devil’s Kettle had no motel, Dean was sleeping in his car, but the twenty-four hour diner made up for it in spades. The food was cheap, but really good, and they served it piled high. He ordered the breakfast special with coffee and extra pancakes and checked his messages while he waited. There was a voicemail from Bobby, demanding Dean call him when he was done getting laid, which Dean felt was very unfair, considering how slim the pickings were in this town.

Alice, the waitress, showed up with his coffee. Dean thanked her with a smile and called Bobby back.

Bobby had looked up the spell Dean found among Low Shoulder’s books. “It’s real enough,” he confirmed. “Damn nasty little ritual if you ask me.”

Dean frowned, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Are you telling me those freaks made a deal with a demon and they get a free pass?” He took that personally. _Very_ personally. Making a deal was one thing. But making _someone else_ pay your due? That was a whole new low.

“Not hardly,” Bobby disagreed. “Virgin sacrifice is just a fancy way to buy a one-way ticket downstairs.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“Thought you of all people wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Dean scoffed. “Killing some innocent chick to get famous? I’ve seen some evil, Bobby, but that’s just…”

“Stupid,” Bobby finished for him. “But makin’ a deal’s never smart.”

Dean rolled his eyes, glad the cranky SOB couldn’t see him. “Whatever,” he responded. “Thanks for the info, Bobby.” He flipped his phone closed, ending the call before the conversation could turn into a fight. He sighed, wondering what had Bobby’s panties in a knot this morning.

Alice appeared with his food and Dean dug in enthusiastically. His phone rang and Dean glanced at the display. It was Bobby again. Dean answered it, his mouth full of bacon. “Something else, Bobby?”

“Yeah,” Bobby answered, offering no apology. Dean hadn’t expected one. “Have you heard from Sam in the last few days?”

Dean hesitated. He hadn’t told Bobby Sam’s news about Lucifer. He figured it wasn’t his to tell. In a way, Sam’s news was almost a relief to Dean. If Lucifer needed Sam’s consent to wear him to the prom, he wouldn’t get it. Sam could out-stubborn their father. The Devil didn’t stand a chance.

He cleared his throat, hoping to cover the momentary hesitation. “Uh…he called me about a week ago. He seemed fine. Why?”

“Because he woke me up in the middle of the night, asking about demonic infections.”

“What? Why?”

“Sounded like a hunt. I thought he might have been with you.”

Sam wasn’t supposed to be hunting. Dean’s frown deepened. Sam had told Dean he wanted back in. Was he hunting on his own? That was _not_ good. The last time Sam tried to go it alone he ended up banging Ruby and sucking on demon blood.

“No. Sam’s not here.” Dean took a bite of sausage, waiting for Bobby.

After a moment’s silence, Bobby answered. “Well. Okay, then.” He hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

Dean pocketed his phone and speared the last piece of sausage with his fork. As he popped it into his mouth, he heard the wail of a police siren. Curious, he moved to the diner’s window in time to see a patrol car speed past. “What now?” he muttered to himself.

There was only one way to find out.

*

Dean had been posing as a journalist for several days, talking to various townspeople about the murders. Anita Lesnicki’s mother refused to talk to him. Dean persisted, since the girl’s mother was most likely to have noticed if she’d been showing signs of possession, but he didn’t really get anything useful from the conversation. Jennifer Check’s mother was more co-operative. She told Dean her version of what happened the night her daughter was killed, though it had the feel of a story she’d already told many times. She heard shouting and walked into her daughter’s room to find her with a box-cutter buried in her heart and Lesnicki straddling her body. One thing stood out: Lesnicki didn’t try to run or hide. Rather, she stayed close to Jennifer’s body until the cops dragged her away. Mrs Check remarked that it was “as if she thought my baby would get up again any moment”.

After the parents, Dean managed to talk with a lot of the kids who knew the murder victims, and even spoke briefly with the teacher who found Kozelle’s body in the woods. All that was good, but it meant his face was known in town as a journalist, so he didn’t think pulling an FBI badge now would be a good idea.

The sound of the sirens led him to the sawmill on the outskirts of town. There was a small crowd gathered near the stacked, uncut timber and Dean saw the inevitable police tape marking off…something. He left the Impala a safe distance away and walked over to join the gathered men.

Dean’s regular clothing matched what most of the men were wearing. He thought he might learn more if he could blend in with the crowd, so instead of trying to engage in conversation he simply joined the group and listened.

It didn’t take long for him to get an idea what was going on.

“…bear attack…”

“…what kind of bear does a thing like…”

“…would have been tracks…”

“…did you fuckin’ _see_…?”

“…such a mess…”

“…two of them…”

“…like burger meat…”

Dean made his way through the group, hoping to catch a glimpse of the scene. This _was_ a sawmill; maybe whatever happened was just an accident. Just as he reached the tape-barrier, two men emerged from behind the timber, wheeling out _something_ in a body bag. It was obvious right away that it wasn’t a whole, adult body. Either they had a dead child in there, or they’d only found bits and pieces of an adult.

Dean turned away, unable to look at the body-bag. Not because it was horrible – he had seen far worse – but because he felt responsible for that anonymous lump of burger-meat. He _knew_ there was something evil in this town. Whatever was in that body-bag was on his head, because he’d been having too much fun chatting up cheerleaders to be a goddamned hunter! Shit!

*

There was only one graveyard in Devil’s Kettle.

Dean propped open the Impala’s trunk and filled a bag with the usual tools: spade, salt, gasoline, guns. When he checked out the sawmill after dark, his EMF meter went nuts. There was enough blood left at the scene to give Dean an all-too-vivid picture of what happened to the poor schmuck in the body-bag. He hadn’t seen anything quite like that since he got out of Hell. What he saw among the stacked logs at the sawmill gave him a chill of recognition so strong he almost tossed his cookies. It wasn’t the blood or the dismemberment; Dean had seen enough of that not to be bothered by it. But the sheer joy in the slaughter, _that_ Dean recognised. That he remembered.

He was more sure than ever that there was something demonic in this town, but he was not going to take any more chances. First order of business: he was going to find the graves of the high school kids who died. If there was any hint of EMF in the graveyard, he would salt-and-burn. All of them, if he had to. It wouldn’t be much fun: those kids had been in the ground less than six months. But Dean would do it.

It was a cold night, but the recent rain had softened the ground. It would make the digging easier, but Dean’s boots slipped on the wet grass as he walked between the headstones. The newest part of the graveyard had headstones for Jonas Kozelle and Colin Gray: two of the three dead boys. The third boy had been cremated. It took Dean longer to find a grave for Jennifer Check; it turned out to be a family plot. Evidently the Checks were an old family in Devil’s Kettle.

Dean didn’t need the EMF.

When he saw Jennifer’s grave, Dean’s first thought was some other hunter had found it ahead of him, but he had been doing this too long to trust his first assumption. He trained his flashlight on the broken ground, examining the grave closely. He noted where the ground rose and fell in ridges. He noted the pattern of the earth. He looked around for the place where the earth would have been piled up if someone like him dug up the grave. He didn’t find it. And Dean knew why.

No one dug up this grave.

Something dug itself _out_.


	2. Chapter 2

I would give my soul to carry your burden  
I would give my soul ’cause I know you still grieve  
Where will we go to hide from their blindness?  
Where will we go if we don’t both believe?  
Bad blood rains down; we’ve got to take cover.  
Cold blood rains down; who can find any peace?

Kansas, _Desperate Times_

####  _Hoyt’s Bar, Garber, Oklahoma_

Hoyt’s Bar was almost empty when the girl walked in. The lunchtime crowd was long gone, but the evening drinkers weren’t yet around, so there was only the staff and Old Tom. Old Tom was on his eighth whiskey, slumped over the end of the bar. He raised his head as the door creaked open, bringing a gust of cold air into the saloon, but Sam would have bet long odds the man couldn’t focus enough to see her. Sam was tending bar alone while Lindsay was in the cellar, taking inventory. This was just as well, because even she would have seen that this chick was trouble.

The girl looked eighteen years old, perhaps younger. Her hair was blonde, a cascade of curls any model would have envied. She wore no makeup, but she had the kind of complexion that needed no such enhancement: creamy skin with a hint of rose in her cheeks, lovely lips and sparkling blue eyes. But her eyes caught Sam’s attention for more than their beauty. She had the look of someone who had been through Hell. Maybe not literally. Her clothing was a jumpsuit in that shade of orange that screams “prison” and a dark grey hoodie torn open at the front, revealing more orange beneath it. The fabric was dirty, stained with mud and what Sam thought may have been blood, though he couldn’t be sure. She seemed awfully young to be on the lam. She looked around the bar warily.

Sam walked toward her, offering a welcoming smile. “Hey. What can I get you?”

She flinched at the question. “I don’t have much money,” she announced, a trace of defiance in her voice.

“You don’t look twenty one, either,” Sam answered, keeping his tone neutral. No judgement, just fact.

“I just need to eat. They chased me out of the diner. Do you do food?”

Sam nodded. “Sandwiches. Pizza. Peanuts and pretzels at the bar. You’re better off trying in town. There’s a pie house a couple of miles – ”

“I can’t,” she interrupted. “I’ll have pizza. I don’t care what kind.”

Sam looked at her more closely. Maggie might well have kicked her out of the diner; she would have taken one look at this girl and assumed she couldn’t pay. But Sam suspected the girl hadn’t tried there. If she’d gone into town in broad daylight looking like this, someone would have called the cops. Sam knew he shouldn’t get involved, but he was who he was, and it was clear she needed help. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He couldn’t hunt, but helping some kid in trouble wasn’t hunting.

“I’ll get you that pizza.” Sam nodded toward a corner booth. “If you sit over there, you’ll be out of sight.”

Her blue eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “Thanks.”

Sam checked the bar’s tiny kitchen and found the pizza left over from lunch. It was cold, but he piled a few slices into the microwave to heat it. He had a hunch this girl wouldn’t be paying for her food anyway. While it heated, he rummaged through the lost and found box under the bar. He pulled out a man’s shirt that had been there for a long time. It smelled musty from the box, but it was reasonably clean. Then he poured a Coke and carried it, the shirt and the pizza over to the girl’s table.

She grabbed the pizza before he even set it on the table, stuffing a slice into her mouth with an eagerness that Dean would have found impressive.

“The Coke’s on me. And, here – ” Sam offered her the shirt. “It’ll help you look a little less…” _like a jailbird_ “…conspicuous.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because I know what it’s like to be in trouble,” Sam answered honestly. “I’m not going to ask questions and I don’t want anything from you.”

“Why?” she asked again.

He smiled. “You look like you could use a friend.”

Something flashed across her face; a look Sam recognised. His words had reminded her of something she didn’t need to remember. When she looked up again, her eyes were like stone. “You don’t want to be my friend,” she said icily.

Sam figured it was best to take her at her word. “Okay. I’ll get out of your way.”

Turned out he was right about her: she skipped out without paying. By the time the evening crowd started appearing, Sam had put the girl out of his mind. He didn’t expect to see her again.

*

####  _Knoxville, Iowa_

  


####  _Three Weeks Later_

The motel was the cheapest in town, and looked like it. The parking lot was overgrown with weeds. The paint on the walls was dull and peeling in places and the handrail on the stairway to the upper floor had been broken for a long time. Sam registered as John Smith and paid cash for one night’s stay. The motel owner didn’t even blink at the obvious alias as he handed over a key.

The room matched the exterior of the motel. There was a distinctive smell of damp and mildew. The carpet was threadbare and the faded wallpaper peeled away from the walls near the cracked ceiling. Sam didn’t care. He and Dean had squatted in far worse places and he planned to stay here only one night. It was three nights since his little dream-chat with Lucifer, and since then Sam had kept moving. A different direction every day, a different place every night. He couldn’t risk being found.

Once inside the room, Sam locked the door, hefted his duffel onto the bed and set about making the room fit for him to sleep in. He rolled back the carpet and painted a devil’s trap on the concrete beneath it, covering the ground inside the door. The threadbare carpet covered the sigil, but it would still trap anything that tried to enter through the door. Sam laid down salt on every window ledge and across the threshold. He drew sigils on each window pane. It was the best protection he had learned from his father and from Bobby. Finally, he checked the hex-bag he wore on a thong around his neck; that was a spell he had learned from Ruby, to hide himself from demons and angels alike. With all that, and the Enochian sigils Castiel carved into his very bones, Sam was as safe as he could make himself.

Next, Sam checked his weapons. When he parted ways with his brother, his intention had been to avoid the hunting world entirely, so he left almost everything in the Impala. But he had his .45, and a small supply of bullets – lead, iron and silver – just in case something found _him_. He loaded the gun, using regular lead bullets since the gun was useless anyway against what was now hunting him, and slid the gun through his belt. There was also a stainless steel hunting knife with a sheath. Sam dipped the sharp blade in holy water and buckled the sheath to his right calf; it wasn’t the most efficient place to keep it, but it would do. Satisfied, Sam pulled on his jacket and headed out into the night, locking the door behind him.

Sam ate at the nearest diner. He ate without really tasting the food, but he dawdled over the cherry pie to delay his return to the room. He took out his phone, checking for missed calls even though he knew he had missed nothing. Dean still hadn’t called. It was three days since they last spoke. Three days since he’d called his brother in the early hours of the morning, with the news that Lucifer had found him.

Sam wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Dean. Comfort? There was no comfort for this. Help or reassurance? Perhaps only the strength he’d always drawn from the simple knowledge of Dean’s love. But even that was denied him. Dean didn’t trust him any longer. Hell, Sam didn’t trust _himself_. Why should he expect more from Dean?

When he got tired of gazing at his silent phone and pushing the last piece of cherry pie around his plate, Sam paid for his meal and left the diner. Outside, the night was cold and his breath hung whitely on the air as he walked. Sam drew the jacket close around his body. At least the bed would be warm.

The neon motel sign was only half-lit as Sam walked beneath it, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. He felt nervous, even paranoid. Though, when you have the Devil himself on your tail, a little paranoia is justified. Leaping out of a dark corner wasn’t Lucifer’s style, so Sam wasn’t sure why he took such care crossing the parking lot, surreptitiously searching the shadows around him. When a small movement caught his eye, Sam’s tension went up several notches. He could feel the eyes watching him now. Not Lucifer. Something else.

Sam unlocked the motel room door but didn’t open it. Making the movement obvious, he looked back over his shoulder as if he’d heard a sound, but didn’t look in the direction of the watcher. He stared into the empty darkness for a moment, then shrugged to himself and began to turn back toward the door.

The figure streaked out of the shadows. Sam caught a glimpse of pale hair and skin and the flash of a knife blade before he twisted and ducked, grabbing for the attacker’s clothing and using the momentum of her charge to flip her over his shoulders. She crashed into the door, which flew open under the impact. She ended up on her back, right in the middle of Sam’s devil’s trap.

Instantly she was up, the knife in her hand. She came at him again and the devil’s trap didn’t stop her. Sam recognised the girl from Hoyt’s Bar but had no time to consider the implications. He spun to avoid the thrust of her knife. He grabbed her wrist, jerking viciously to force her to drop the knife. She cried out and he kicked the blade out of reach, then shoved the door closed, trapping her in the room. He still had hold of her wrist and tried to pull her around so he could get her into an arm-lock, but she kicked out, narrowly missing his nuts.

She fought dirty! But Sam could fight just as dirty. The next time she kicked, he was ready. He grabbed her leg and pulled sharply to unbalance her. She crashed to the floor. Sam was on top of her at once, pinning her down. She fought like a wildcat, but Sam was bigger, stronger and trained for this. Once he had the advantage, he had her.

It was a pity she didn’t realise that. Even as Sam grasped both of her wrists above her head with one of his hands, even as he straddled her thighs so she couldn’t move, she still struggled against him.

Sam pulled the gun with his free hand. He cocked it to fire – not necessary, but he wanted her to hear it – and aimed it right between her eyes. “Stop it!” he ordered.

She stilled, her blue eyes going wide.

Sam didn’t let go of her wrists. “Right. Now who are you, _what_ are you, and why the fuck are you attacking me?”

*

Her name was Anita (“Everyone calls me Needy”) Lesnicki. He got that much out of her before she attacked him again.

Needy struggled the whole time Sam was tying her to the chair, and she was a lot stronger than she looked. The whole thing took much longer than it should have and Sam almost gave it up as a bad idea. But he really felt he had no choice. She had intended to kill him. He couldn’t keep her around without restraining her, and he couldn’t let her go until he understood why she’d come after him.

“You’re just like _them_,” Needy snarled as Sam secured the last knot.

He stood back and looked at her. “I’m like what now?”

“Them. The Devil-worshipping losers who murdered my best friend!”

Devil worshipping? She had Sam’s attention with those words. He sat down on the end of the bed, which placed his eyes level with hers. “You believe I worship the Devil?” he asked mildly. He wondered if she knew just how real the Devil was these days.

“I think,” she spat, “you’re a murderer.” Sam could see her muscles bunch beneath her clothing as she kept working at the ropes.

He couldn’t truthfully deny her charge. Unwillingly, he remembered the young nurse he killed…no, _sacrificed_…to get the power to kill Lilith. Which set Lucifer free. Which started the apocalypse. Which was supposed to end with him becoming Lucifer’s meat-suit. Sam shuddered. Don’t go there.

He did his best to keep his voice neutral. “Who is it you think I murdered?” he asked her, almost afraid of the answer. How much did she know about him?

Needy hesitated. “I…I don’t know,” she admitted, but then her eyes narrowed. “But I see it. There’s blood all over you.”

Since Sam’s clothing was freshly laundered, he knew the blood she saw wasn’t visible to normal sight. She was a psychic. She had to be. “If that’s true, why did you attack me? Shouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid.” She continued to work at the rope, but Sam wasn’t worried. It would have taken _Dean_ at least a couple of hours to work free of those knots; this girl wasn’t going anywhere.

“Why did you attack me, Needy?” Sam persisted. When she turned her head away, clearly refusing to answer, he added, “You’re going to stay in that chair until you explain this to me, so you may as well start talking. This could be a _very_ long night. Or a long week.” He hoped she wouldn’t force him to _make_ her talk. He could…but that would lead him back to a place he was trying to leave far behind him.

She looked at him again. “I was going to slice you open and drink your blood,” she answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

In spite of the sarcastic tone, Sam thought she was telling the plain truth. “Why do you want blood? You’re not a vampire.”

“Stop humouring me!” she flared. “There’s no such thing!”

“Yes, there is,” Sam corrected. “There aren’t too many of them left these days, but vampires are real. So are werewolves, and witches, and spirits, and cupacabras, and wendigos and a whole lot of other things you’ve only seen in horror movies. But _you’re_ not a vampire. So what’s with the bloodlust?”

She snarled. “Untie me and I’ll show you!”

“Nice try. Talk.”

Needy looked down then, avoiding his gaze, but not in the defiant way she did earlier. When she spoke, her voice betrayed her trepidation. “I think…I think I’m part demon.”

Sam couldn’t help it. He laughed.

Her blonde head jerked up, her eyes flashed with anger. “I’m not crazy!”

“Honey, I’m no shrink. But whatever you are, you’re not a demon.”

“How would _you_ know?”

“Trust me, I know.”

Sam reached under the bed for his duffel and pulled out a bottle of holy water. He took a sip to demonstrate it was harmless and then offered the bottle to her. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she nodded. Sam held the bottle to her lips, letting her drink. He sat down on the bed again as he screwed the cap back on the bottle.

“I’ve been hunting demons since I was a kid. I know a demon when I see one,” Sam told her.

Her eyes went wide. “Is that _true_?”

“It’s true. Do you know what a hunter is?”

“Only if we’re talking bear.”

Sam smiled. “Not bear. Not Bambi, either. Supernatural creatures.”

“Well…okay.” Needy had quit trying to work the ropes loose. “So what makes you so sure I’m not a demon? It’s not like they all wear t-shirts saying ‘Go To Hell, Ask Me How’.”

Sam answered seriously. “Three reasons. First, demons don’t doubt or question what they are. If you were a demon, Needy, or possessed by one, you’d know it. But you said _I think_. Second, if you were a demon, you wouldn’t be able to enter this room.”

“You threw me into this room!” she protested.

“I know I did, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve got protections all around this place. When I shoved you through the door, you should have been caught in the devil’s trap. You went right through it. No demon could have done that.”

She looked toward the door. “What’s a devil’s trap?”

“It’s a circle of power. I painted it under the carpet.”

“You said three reasons,” she prompted.

“Yeah. Reason three…” he held up the bottle, “this is holy water.” He dropped the bottle back into the duffel. “So. Tell me why you thought you might be a demon.”

She was staring at the bottle poking out of Sam’s duffel as if she’d never seen one before. “I’m not? Really not?”

Sam nodded. “Really not a demon.”

“Then why can I…?” she began, then clamped her lips together as if forcing herself not to finish that sentence.

“We’ll get to that,” Sam answered, as if he’d understood her, though he didn’t. “First tell me why you believed you were a demon.”

“I was bitten. And it won’t heal. Ever since then I…I’m different.”

“Bitten?” Sam frowned. He knew of several things that could leave a bite that wouldn’t heal, but none of them could be mistaken for a demon. There were other things that could infect a human through their bite, but those bite wounds always healed. Needy Lesnicki really was a mystery.

“If you untie me, I’ll show you,” she offered.

Sam hadn’t forgotten how this conversation started. “Not gonna happen,” he said firmly. “Where is this bite?”

“My shoulder,” she answered sullenly, tilting her head to indicate which one.

Sam approached her warily. He didn’t exactly ask permission, but he gave her a chance to object before he reached for her clothing. Needy sat there, stiffly silent, while he unzipped her hoodie and opened the first three fasteners of the top she wore beneath it. He was careful not to touch her breasts or to expose more of her chest than was necessary. Then he drew the material to one side, revealing the pale strap of her bra and the flesh of her shoulder.

The bite mark looked like nothing he had ever seen before. If pushed, Sam would have guessed it was a vampire bite, from the size and shape, but it wasn’t close enough to any major vein or artery to be a vampire bite. The fang scars formed a clear elliptical ring of punctures, each puncture wound with a clear groove in the flesh leading up to it, as if the teeth or fangs had sharp edges like an arrowhead. Or as if whatever bit her had several rows of teeth. Sam knew of only one thing that had fangs like that, and it wasn’t supernatural: sharks had multiple rows of teeth.

For a moment, he simply stared at the wound. He could see why she said it wouldn’t heal. It _had_ healed in one way: it wasn’t bleeding. But the flesh around the bite was pink and swollen as if infected and the puncture wounds were open, not scarred or scabbed over.

Sam pulled out the holy water. “May I try this?” he asked her.

“What will it do to me?”

“Probably just get you wet. But if that bite really is demonic, the holy water might help.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Sam poured the water onto his fingers and then carefully dripped a little onto the wound.

Immediately, her body tensed and she flinched away. He heard her breath whistle through her clenched teeth. The wound began to smoke, exactly the way a demon’s skin reacted to holy water.

And Sam knew that whether he was ready or not, he was back in the game now.

*

“That’s breaking and entering!” Needy hissed.

Sam grinned at her. “Yeah, it is. What’s your point?” He felt the click as the window lock came open and slid his fingers beneath the frame. He pulled the window open, propped it with his knife, and turned to her. “Do you need a boost?”

Needy raised her hood and tucked the loose strands of her hair underneath the fabric. She looked up to the window; the bottom of the frame was about level with her eyes. For a moment, she simply looked at it. Then, with no apparent effort, she rose up from the ground, floated level with the window, grabbed the frame and wriggled through. Sam heard a thump as she hit the ground on the other side, then her face appeared on the other side of the glass. “What are you waiting for?”

Sam closed his mouth. She’d said something about having demonic abilities but he didn’t expect a demonstration quite that spectacular. No wonder she thought she wasn’t human. What else could she do? He tabled those questions and the hundred or so more crowding into his brain. He would interrogate her later. Sam reached up and clambered through the clinic window, somewhat less gracefully than Needy.

Once inside the clinic, it didn’t take them long to find the lab. The lab itself had no windows, so Sam flipped the light switch and opened cupboards, picking locks where necessary, until he found everything he wanted: needles and syringes, a microscope, slides. He offered her a rubber tie. “Are you still happy with this?” he asked. He was having second thoughts himself, mostly because he couldn’t figure out how she would react if they got a result she didn’t like.

“Don’t be so squeamish,” she accused, wrapping the rubber around her bared upper arm.

Sam turned on a desk lamp and angled the beam toward her arm. He felt more nervous than he should. They could have drawn her blood some other way, but Needy really wasn’t accustomed to the Winchester method of improvisation and Sam didn’t want to scare her off. He’d sold this idea to her by making it sound scientific and logical; if he’d suggested slitting her wrist to draw some blood it would have ruined his whole pitch. But his only experience of drawing blood the professional way was watching re-runs of ER. He could see the vein clearly, though, and got the needle in on his first try. Beginners luck? Needy didn’t even wince. Slowly, he drew back the plunger on the syringe and it filled with dark blood. When he pulled the needle out, a small flow of blood followed it. He’d forgotten to look for iodine, but Needy simply wiped it off with a piece of gauze.

Dropping a little blood onto a glass slide, Sam carefully placed another on top, smearing the sample. Not the most professional job, but Biology 101 had been a few years ago. He was out of practice. This should be enough. He popped the slide underneath the microscope and leaned over it. Sam adjusted the magnification and focus. He took his time, straining to remember what the Croatoan-infected blood had looked like.

Finally he raised his head and passed the microscope to Needy. “It looks normal to me.”

She grabbed it and looked for herself. “What would it look like if I were infected?” she demanded with her eye glued to the microscope.

“I’ve only seen one demonic virus and with that, there were visible traces of sulphur in the blood. Yours just looks like blood. I can’t say for sure, Needy, but it seems okay to me.”

She was still bent over the microscope. Sam watched her adjust it and look again. “I guess so,” she admitted eventually.

“You don’t sound happy about that,” Sam observed.

“No, I am. It’s just…what does it mean? What am I?”

The syringe filled with Needy’s blood lay on the table between them. Sam looked at it, suddenly aware that there was another way he could test her blood for demonic traces. The moment it occurred to him, he had to stop himself reaching for the syringe. He took a deep breath, forcing his gaze away. Blood. Demon blood.

“I think,” he answered, finding it difficult to get the words out, “you’re the same kind of thing I am.”

*

“Heads!” Needy called.

Sam caught the quarter, slapped it on the back of his hand and held it out so they could both see. “Tails. You first.”

She gave him a dirty look. “Best of three?”

Sam pocketed his quarter. “We had a deal, Needy.”

She claimed a carton of noodles and a pair of chopsticks then reached for a bottle of beer. “Are you gonna make a fuss about my age?”

“Why would I?” Sam shrugged. He’d pointed out she was under-age in Hoyt’s bar because he worked there. He hadn’t cared. If she’d offered ID he would have served her, no matter how fake it was. He opened his bottle of whiskey.

“Good.” Needy drank some beer and pulled a face. “Tastes terrible.”

While they ate Chinese food, Needy told Sam everything that happened in Devil’s Kettle. She explained how the local music venue, Melody Lane, burned down the night Low Shoulder were playing there. How she’d told the singer that her best friend, Jennifer, was a virgin, because she’d overheard him disrespecting her. How they’d kidnapped Jennifer in the confusion after the fire and used her in some Satanic ritual. She talked about Jennifer showing up at her home that night, covered in blood and behaving like a completely different person. Then she talked about the murders, and Jennifer’s peculiar confession that she was the one responsible…and why.

“I’d already started to put some of it together,” Needy explained. “Right after each murder, when everyone else was depressed or at least sad, she was…” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “Jennifer was _sparkling_,” she said eventually. “She was always gorgeous, but right after the fire she was amazing. Then, a few weeks later, it was like she was sick or something. Her hair was dull, and there was no colour in her face.”

“The power, or the high, she got from killing didn’t last,” Sam said.

“That’s what I thought. She said something about ‘it’ wearing off. I figured I needed to find out what really happened to her in the woods, so I started reading everything I could find about witchcraft and Devil worship. I found a book in the occult section of the school library…”

Sam choked on his whiskey. “Your high school library has an occult section?” He was sitting on the floor of their motel room, leaning back against the king-sized bed.

“Well, the town _is_ called Devil’s Kettle.” Needy was sprawled on the bed, dangling a bottle over the side between her fingers. She was on her third beer, but she was kind of a lightweight. Three seemed to be enough.

Sam twisted around so he could see her face. “Still, if you found it in a school library that explains why you got so much wrong.”

She was on it at once. “What did I get wrong?”

“I’ll explain when it’s my turn. Keep going.”

Needy made a frustrated sound and reached for another beer. Sam got there first, moving the nearest bottle out of her reach.

“Hey!”

“You’ve had three, Needy. Switch to soda unless you think you’ll enjoy your first hangover.”

“Whatever, sugar daddy.”

Sam winced: he wasn’t _that_ much older than her! “You found a book…” he prompted.

Needy picked up her story. “It said that if you try to sacrifice a virgin to Satan, but she’s not an actual virgin, the ritual kind of opens a door. She becomes possessed and has to feed on human flesh to sustain the demon inside.”

Sam nodded. “Okay. That confirmed your friend’s story.”

“But I didn’t really believe it! I mean, that night when she told me, she was so…strange. Like she was high or something. She _kissed_ me, Sam! And not just a little, either. It was full on – ”

“Needy!” Sam cut her off. “Spare me the details of the girl-on-girl action, willya?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You got a problem with it?” she challenged.

Sam laughed. “You don’t know much about men, do you?”

“I’m not a lesbian!”

“That’s not what I meant. Let’s just say I don’t need that visual in my head when we’re sharing a room with only one bed.”

“Oh.” She nodded, then made a face. “Ew! That’s gross.”

Sam shrugged. “Forgive me for being a guy. What finally convinced you it was real?”

“When Chip started talking about the prom. Somehow I knew that he was going to be next and it would happen at the prom. I tried to warn him but…he wouldn’t listen. I guess I sounded crazy. At the dance I was watching for her, but…I was too late.”

“Jennifer killed Chip?” Sam guessed. She’d just _known_ what would happen, and she spoke as if that, at least, was entirely natural to her. She was definitely a psychic.

Needy nodded. “I realised no one would ever believe me. The only way she would ever stop was if I stopped her. The book said a blade to the heart would kill the demon.”

The book was very wrong, but Sam didn’t say so. “Is that when she bit you? When you tried to kill her?”

“Yes.” Needy rubbed her shoulder self-consciously. “When she killed Chip, I think I stopped her getting whatever it was she needed from him. She was still weak. When we fought she levitated us both and bit me. She was going to eat _me_…for a moment I really thought I was gonna die like the others. Then we both fell, and I stabbed her. I think…no, I _know_…that bite gave me some of her powers.”

“That’s probably true,” Sam agreed, remembering Ruby and what her blood did to him. Thinking of Ruby made him reach for the whiskey again.

“Okay, then!” Needy rolled over onto her back. Her head hung over the side of the bed, her long blonde hair almost touching Sam’s shoulder. “Your turn to tell me what the Hell you are.”

Sam looked at her. In spite of everything she had been through, she wasn’t really part of his world. Not yet. If he told her what was really going on out there, she wouldn’t be able to go back.

_I’m the one who started the apocalypse._

_I’m a demon-blood junkie who murdered a woman for my fix._

_I’m the anti-Christ._

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he began, because he hadn’t told her his full name before. He didn’t expect her to react, but her eyes went wide for an instant, as if the name meant something to her. “What?” he asked. If she mentioned those damned books of Chuck’s he might just lose it…

“Winchester,” she repeated. “As in, ‘_Winchesters suck ass_’?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”

Needy smirked. “It was on a website. When I was looking for a way to stop Jennifer I researched everywhere I could. These two guys made home videos about how to kill ghosts and stuff…”

Sam’s frown smoothed out. “Are you talking about the Ghostfacers?”

“Yes! That’s the website name.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Those douchebags don’t like me and my brother much.” He was quiet for a moment, wondering how to continue.

“So, Sam Winchester,” Needy prompted. “You hunt demons and kill ghosts. Didn’t you ever want a normal life?” Needy’s expression was expectant, and he could see the little girl she must have been once, eager for a story.

Sam screwed the top back onto the whiskey bottle and set it aside. “That’s all I ever wanted, but I never had a chance. My mom died in a fire when I was six months old…”


	3. Chapter 3

Horror began to dawn as fear played its part;  
The fear that cancels out the love that’s in our heart.  
All the hurt we felt repeated down the line;  
The pain inflicted was the pain that we designed.  
I try escaping from the person that I am;  
Here is the endless cycle, break it if you can.

Killing Joke, _Black Moon_

“Apocalypse,” Needy said weakly, when Sam finally fell silent. “As in, the end of the world?” She had listened to his story without interrupting once. Sam had edited heavily; she could tell each time he stumbled over mentioning something or vagued up the details. But she was grateful he had: what he’d said was scary enough.

“As in the end of the world,” Sam confirmed.

“The seven seals. The four horsemen. Number of the beast. All that?”

“Sixty six seals, but otherwise, yeah. Pretty much.”

Needy gazed at him a moment longer, taking in his dark frown, the despair behind his eyes. She threw herself back onto the pillows, feeling the mattress springs bounce beneath her. “Okay,” she declared. “You win.”

“I win?” Sam sounded confused, which pleased her: it was what she’d intended.

She sat up, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. With her hair tousled around her face and her big blue eyes, Needy knew she still looked the picture of innocence. “I thought with the whole my best friend turned into a flesh-eating demon and my boyfriend was murdered at the prom and then I had to stab her in the heart with – ”

“Breathe,” Sam reminded her.

Needy breathed. “I honestly thought with all that shit, my life sucked the worst. But I guess I was wrong. You win.”

Sam picked up his whiskey bottle, looked at the small amount of liquid remaining there but then seemed to think better of it. He set the bottle down and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower. Do you want the bed?”

“I’m not tired,” she answered. Did he really believe she could _sleep_ after hearing that story?

“You look wiped out, Needy. At least try to sleep, okay?”

She nodded.

“Just leave a pillow on the floor for me.” Sam disappeared into the bathroom.

After a few moments, Needy heard the shower start up. She couldn’t help picturing Sam under the flowing water, naked, maybe jerking off and thinking of her that night with Jennifer. Sam was definitely what Jennifer would have called _extra salty_. Needy told herself it was an idle fantasy. She didn’t really want Sam. He was too…dark…for her attraction to be anything she wanted to act on.

She stripped off most of her clothing, folding everything neatly, then realised she had nothing to wear to sleep in. She glanced toward the bathroom door but the shower was still running. She pulled Sam’s duffel out of the closet and rummaged through it. He carried a lot of freaky stuff in there, but now she understood why it didn’t bother her. She found a t-shirt and pulled it on over her head. It was massively too big for her, but at least this way she wouldn’t flash him while she tossed and turned.

Remembering to throw a pillow onto the floor, Needy crawled under the comforter and wrapped it tightly around her. It felt better to be hugged, even if it was only by cloth. She closed her eyes. Needy didn’t expect to sleep, but the next thing she knew, it was morning.

*

The motel curtains were thin and barely blocked out the morning sun. Needy blinked against the light as she sat up, feeling the throb of a headache behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted like dirty carpet and she felt her stomach roil unpleasantly.

On the floor beside the bed lay the empty beer bottles and food cartons from the night before. Needy groaned, figuring that explained why she felt like shit. And then she remembered what Sam told her. Angels and demons. Lucifer. The apocalypse. Needy really, really wanted to believe he was a nutjob. But she remembered trying to explain to Chip that Jennifer was evil, like Satanic evil, and how he’d responded that she needed help, and maybe she should talk to Dr Feely. But Needy hadn’t been crazy. A little loose around the edges, maybe, but she was right about Jennifer. Sam didn’t seem crazy to Needy. He seemed driven and dangerous, a little loose around the edges, maybe. But Needy believed him.

Sam came out of the bathroom as if her thought had summoned him. “You’re awake. Good.” His jeans were the same pair as the night before, but he wore a fresh shirt – grey with blue stripes – unbuttoned to reveal his sculpted chest and abs.

“Have you been in there all night?” Needy asked. As soon as the words left her idiot mouth she realised how stupid that question was, but it was too late to take it back. In her defence, he _was_ very distracting (un)dressed like that.

“No, I slept,” Sam answered as he buttoned up his shirt. He looked at her more closely. “You look awful, Needy. Are you feeling okay?”

“Hung over, I guess,” she admitted sheepishly.

“On three bottles of light beer?” Sam seemed about to say more and then changed his mind, his expression turning serious. “I think there’s more we need to talk about, Needy. Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go out for breakfast.”

Suddenly, Needy was starving. “Okay,” she agreed.

Sam said he would wait in the car, so Needy rushed through her shower. She did take the time to wash her hair because it felt horribly greasy. When she was done she rubbed her hair with a towel and tied it back wet. She cleaned her teeth quickly, replacing the taste of carpet with mint and then headed into the next room to get dressed.

Clothing was a problem. When she escaped from Leech Lake she had only the clothes she had been wearing in solitary: orange jumpsuit, dark blue sleeveless hoodie and big bunny slippers. She stole clean underwear and different pants from a laundrette back in Madison, and shoplifted a decent pair of shoes. The pants only lasted one night: there was so much blood on them after she took out those Devil-worshipping bastards she had to ditch them. Now she was once again reduced to the orange pants and hoodie she’d been wearing since Leech Lake, and the oversized shirt Sam gave her back in Oklahoma. Oh, and the t-shirt she’d slept in, Needy noticed. Sam had left it on the bed with the rest of her clothes. She dressed reluctantly in clothing that were beginning to smell really bad. She would have to find some kind of work soon so she could get new clothes.

Over breakfast, she mentioned her problem to Sam. “…can’t let you pay for everything, after all.”

“Sure you can, Needy. It’s not like I earned the money we’re spending.” Sam let that hang just long enough to get Needy worried. Then he looked up from his breakfast. “Listen, there’s something you need to understand.” Sam glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I think you were mostly right about what happened to Jennifer. Those men sacrificed her, which means your friend was already dead when she came to your house that night. The only thing keeping her body moving was the demon inside her.”

Needy laid down her fork. She’d tried to eat, but although she was hungry the food tasted like cardboard in her mouth. “Are you sure? It seemed like Jen was still…you know, driving. She was more bitchy than usual, but…”

“Demons can fool you that way, believe me.” Sam frowned, some dark memory lurking behind his eyes. “The important thing is the demon isn’t dead. What you did would have killed Jennifer, if she weren’t already dead, but you can’t kill a demon that way.”

Needy stared at him. _That explains why you got so much wrong_, he had said last night. “You couldn’t have mentioned this before?”

“It wouldn’t have done any good to tell you last night. Now it’s morning and you need to decide what you want to do. You _can_ just forget about all this, you know. Get on with your life?”

“What life? I’m on the run, remember?”

“That’s your choice, Needy. Running is the quickest way to get caught.” He looked at her critically for a moment. “Cut your hair and dye it a new colour. Get yourself a fake ID. Pick a small town somewhere in the Midwest and take the first job you can find, no matter how crappy. Keep to yourself and don’t talk about your past, but have a story ready if you need it. You’re a bit young to be running from a husband, so maybe…make it your dad. Your dad’s in prison and you don’t want him finding you when he gets out. That’s how you make a life.”

“With that demon still out there?” Needy asked incredulously. “She’ll be killing more boys, won’t she?”

“That’s likely,” Sam agreed, and now his voice was carefully neutral.

“I’ve got to get her!” Needy’s response was immediate, but then she realised what she was saying. “But how? I can’t go back to Devil’s Kettle – they’ll throw me back in jail!”

Sam nodded slowly and Needy got the impression it was reluctant. “Well,” he said, “I can help you with that.”

“You know how to kill a demon?”

Again, her words seemed to remind him of something. “I can send it back to Hell,” Sam agreed.

“Teach me how.”

“If you want.”

*

Instead of heading toward the highway, as Needy expected, Sam turned the car into the parking lot of the motel. Needy looked at him, wondering if he’d forgotten something. They’d checked out before breakfast and as far as she knew, Sam’s bag and her own meagre belongings were in the trunk.

“Why have we come back here?” Needy asked, confused.

“I want to show you something before we go,” Sam answered, already climbing out of the car.

Needy followed him, curious but not worried. She watched as Sam deftly picked the lock on the room where they had spent the night. Then he stood back, letting her enter first.

“Go into the bathroom,” Sam instructed.

Needy obeyed. Sam followed her. He placed his hands on his shoulders and turned her toward the large mirror, standing behind her so she could see them both reflected in the glass. Needy stared at herself in disbelief. Her skin looked almost grey. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, dark circles beneath them giving her a panda-like appearance. Her lips were dry and chapped. Shocked, Needy reached up to untie her ponytail. She shook out her hair. Freshly washed and now mostly dry, her hair should have been a wild shock of blonde curls. Instead it hung limp around her face.

“I look…like Jennifer,” she whispered, revolted by the thought.

“That’s what I thought.” Sam released her shoulders and led her into the next room. “I have to ask you some things, and I need the truth, you understand?”

She nodded, glad she could no longer see her reflection.

“When I first met you,” Sam began, “it was, what, a day or two after you killed those guys?”

“Four days, I think,” Needy agreed.

“And – this is important – have you killed anyone else? Since then, I mean.”

How did he know? Needy swallowed. Her impulse was to deny it, but she had hesitated for too long. He would know she was lying. “Once,” she confessed, and added quickly, “It was self defence!” Though that wasn’t exactly true. She’d been hitchhiking and when that creep stopped to offer her a ride, she had known what would happen. But she got in the car anyway.

“How long ago?” was all Sam asked. Not who or why. He passed no judgement. Needy remembered her first vision of Sam, with blood thick on his hands and face. Suddenly she was scared. He hunted supernatural creatures. What if he decided she was…evil?

“I guess, two weeks,” Needy answered and heard the tremor in her voice.

“And you attacked me the other night. You said you wanted blood. Is that true?”

She could see Sam putting the pieces together and knew the conclusion he would draw. He wasn’t wrong, but she knew different now.

She rushed to defend herself. “I thought I was turning into something like Jennifer. But you proved I’m not, didn’t you?”

“_You_ proved you’re not like her when you picked bad guys to kill. But you still have that bite. May I see it again?”

Needy unzipped her hoodie, unbuttoned the shirt beneath it and pulled both aside, exposing her bare shoulder. She could see for herself that the wound was worse. The skin around the open puncture wounds was swollen and red. Why didn’t it hurt? That should hurt.

“I think I know what you need.” Sam held a knife in his hand. It was _her_ knife.

“No.” Needy backed off. She didn’t know what he was doing with her knife, but it couldn’t be anything good.

“This is a stopgap, Needy. We’ll find another way, I promise, but I need you healthy now.” He raised the knife and Needy braced herself for a fight.

But Sam drew the blade across his own inner forearm, scoring a deep line in the flesh. Blood welled up at once, staining the blade. Needy saw thick scars at his wrist. It looked like the legacy of a suicide attempt, but Sam didn’t seem the type. Needy thought that if Sam intended to take his own life, he wouldn't make any mistakes.

Sam held out his arm. The blood began to flow in a thick crimson seam toward his outstretched hand.

“This is what you need,” Sam said.

“I can’t!” Was he _serious_? She tried to take another step back but found her back against the wall.

“Needy, please. Trust me.”

Panicking a little, she met his eyes. She searched his expression for some sign, some indication of what she should do. To her amazement she saw fear in his eyes. But it wasn’t fear of _her_. Maybe he was afraid she would refuse.

Blood welled from the cut in his forearm, running toward his wrist and from there dripping to the ground. One glistening red drop after another. Sam said nothing more. He simply stood there, offering his blood to her. Bleeding. Waiting.

*

Needy took the wallet from Sam and examined the contents. There was a Pennsylvania driver’s license with her picture. The name on the license was Anita Blake, age 22. There were two credit cards in the same name, and some cash: a few small bills and one fifty. It all looked very convincing.

Except for the name. “Anita Blake?” Needy asked him sceptically. “Seriously?”

Sam flashed a quick grin. “It seemed to suit you. The credit cards will work, but don’t use them until you really need to. I want to get you another ID, too, but that can wait.”

“Why do I need two?”

“Because you need a different look, just in case we have to go to Minnesota. I’ve got a duplicate of that license; we just need a photo that…well, that doesn’t look like you.”

“I can’t go back there!” Needy protested. That was suicide. She would be recognised and arrested. Next time it might be a prison she couldn’t just float out of.

“Needy, you have to start trusting me. _If_ we need to go within a hundred miles of Devil’s Kettle, I’ll make sure you’re safe. No one will know it’s you.”

“How?” Needy argued, though it didn’t matter. She absolutely was not going anywhere near Devil’s Kettle again.

“Black wig. Goth makeup. Maybe a fake tattoo.” Sam must have seen her face, because he added, “It’ll work. Disguise is like stage magic: the key is misdirection. If you can wear Goth makeup and fake the attitude, people won’t remember anything else about you.”

Needy sighed. “The Goths were a Germanic tribe that settled in Rome. They didn’t wear black. They wore regular linen tunics.” Why was she the only one who knew that?

Sam smiled. “Goth as in the subculture comes from ‘Gothic Horror’. It’s a literary convention named for the architecture of old buildings, which was Germanic originally.” He gave a quick wink. “I studied art history in college.”

“Okay,” Needy answered, a little taken aback. She turned back to Sam’s laptop, where her research efforts were displayed on the screen. “You were right, I think,” she said.

Sam sat down on the end of one of the motel beds. “Right about what?”

“The demon is still alive.” Needy’s voice cracked on the words. She’d tried so hard to stop Jennifer. “She’s still killing.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam’s look was sympathetic. “What did you find?”

“Joe Dorian was ripped apart out at the old sawmill. The local paper called it a bear attack, but the police say it wasn’t a bear. They think it was me.”

Sam nodded. “It makes sense that you’d be a suspect if they think a person did it.”

“That was a week ago. If it was Jennifer, she’s not in Devil’s Kettle any more. The sawmill is on the way out of town.”

“Any idea where she went?”

“Well, I did what you said and tried to find a trail in the news. I didn’t find any more murders. But you said to look for demonic omens.” Needy hesitated. Sam _had_ explained what she should look for, but Needy wasn’t certain what she’d found. She turned the laptop toward Sam. “Is this right?”

Sam took the computer from her and studied it for a while. “Yahtzee,” he murmured.

“Does that mean yes?”

Sam closed the laptop. “It means yes, you’ve found a trail we can follow. But this looks very close to Devil’s Kettle. Are you up for this?”

A moment before, she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t let him drag her back there. But she thought about Jennifer, and Chip. She couldn’t give up now. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Do you really think changing my look will work?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t.”

“If I’m going to dress up like one of the Dead Girls, I’ll need money. Maybe a lot.”

Sam smiled. “Let’s test out that ID. The quickest way to make a lot of cash is at the pool table.”

*

Needy’s trail led them to a Minnesota town called Providence. It was larger than Devil’s Kettle, large enough to have a motel, but it was still a small town. They checked into the motel and hid themselves in their room before anyone had a chance to get a good look at Needy. Needy had changed her look dramatically, but the problem was she felt the same inside. She found it difficult to trust the disguise. Her blonde hair was covered with a wig: black hair with streaks of blue, shoulder length and straight. She had lightened her skin with makeup and used far too much kohl to outline her eyes. The kohl darkened her irises to indigo; that was the only part of this look she liked. Her lipstick was dark purple.

The clothing she had purchased matched the look: a push-up bra was just visible beneath a tight-fitting purple top which was covered with a black crochet sweater. Her skirt was black, short and ruffled and she wore black leggings beneath it, and heavy “rocker” boots with silver buckles. Completing the look was jewellery: most of it the cheapest she could find, but at Sam’s suggestion she bought a silver pentagram necklace for protection. One of his hex-bags hung from her belt.

Sam was right about the look: when she first saw the full effect in a mirror, Needy was sure her own mother wouldn’t recognise her. She carried a mini-backpack which now contained the basic tools of the demon-hunter’s trade: holy water, salt and a piece of motel stationary which had a devil’s trap drawn on one side (so she could copy it if she needed one) and the Roman ritual of exorcism written on the other in Sam’s neat handwriting. Just in case.

Before they set out, Sam made her read the exorcism to him over and over. He explained she didn’t need to memorise the ritual itself – reading it was just fine – but she did need to memorise the pronunciation. She kept stumbling at the same part: _contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt._ Sam was not satisfied until she got it right three times in a row.

“I think we’re ready,” Needy announced, slipping the ritual back into her backpack.

“As ready as you can be,” Sam agreed. He didn’t sound too confident. Needy knew he wasn’t thrilled with the plan, even though it was mostly his. It was the including-her part he didn’t like. “Needy, stay close tonight, and stay alert. There’s no reason to think this demon is still walking around in Jennifer’s skin. It could look like anyone.”

Needy disagreed. “No. Not anyone. She feeds on boys, remember? If it’s in a new body, it will be in someone like her: sexy, young. A girl.”

“That makes sense,” Sam nodded, “and it gives us a place to start, but this is a demon. It can jump into anyone.”

Needy fingered the pentagram at her neck. “Us, too?” she asked, suddenly worried.

“No, not us. You’re safe as long as you wear the hex bag I gave you and I have protection of my own.”

“But anyone else?”

“Yes. Ready to go hunting?”

She was.

*

Their first night’s hunt was a big disappointment.

Needy and Sam combed Providence for places a demonic cheerleader might try to pick up an unsuspecting date for dinner, looking for traces of sulphur or EMF.

Coffee shop – nothing.

Music club – nothing.

The run-down little movie theatre – nada.

It was nearly 11 o’clock when they decided to call it a night and walk back to the motel.

“She might have left town,” Sam suggested as they walked. “Or maybe she was never here.”

“No,” Needy answered. Suddenly, without knowing how or why, she was one hundred percent certain Jennifer was close by. “She was here. She’s still here. She’s…” Needy stopped, searching for a word to describe the feeling that washed over her. “Waiting,” she finished, eventually though that word didn’t quite fit.

Sam stared at her. “You can tell? Can you feel her?”

Needy tried to concentrate, but she couldn’t close her eyes while trying to keep pace with Sam’s long strides. She still couldn’t exactly name the feeling. “I know she’s close. And there’s something. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”

“How close is she?”

“I don’t know. In town for sure.”

“I wish I’d known earlier that you could do that,” Sam groused.

“I didn’t know I could!” Needy protested, glad to see the lights of the motel ahead. “It was just when you said she might have left town I knew you were wrong. It just popped into my brain.”

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry, Needy. I of all people should know that psychic ability doesn’t work on demand in the beginning.”

She smiled, though he probably couldn’t see it in the darkness. “Apology accepted.”

They entered the motel parking lot and Sam pulled their room key from his pocket. It jingled in his hand.

Abruptly, Sam stopped walking. Needy stopped too, and looked at him. Under the dim glow of the motel lights, his face was in shadow. She couldn’t read his expression, so she looked where he seemed to be looking: at the two cars parked on the other side of the lot. One of them was a Ford pickup. The other was a sleek, black Chevy.


	4. Chapter 4

Down, get down on your knees  
Running gonna bring you down  
I’m the demon of disorder  
You know I’m gonna drive you into the ground

Deep Purple, _Nasty Piece of Work_

Dean was here! Sam would know that car anywhere.

_We’re not stronger when we’re together, Sam. I think we’re weaker._

_We’re better off apart._

The euphoria Sam felt when he saw Dean’s car vanished abruptly when he remembered their last conversation.

_We’re the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other. For good._

Sam swallowed. Maybe Dean wouldn’t be happy to see him. But Sam couldn’t be this close and not talk to his own brother.

“Earth to Sam Winchester!” Needy called.

He’d almost forgotten she was there. “It’s okay, Needy. My brother’s here.” He could hear the excitement threading through his own voice.

“Oh! Where?”

“That’s his car. The Impala. Come on, let’s get inside and I’ll call him.”

As soon as the door closed, Needy pulled off her wig, and then the heavy boots. She kicked her legs for a moment, easing out the kinks. “I’m going to take a bath and wash this crap off my face.”

Sam barely heard her; he was already dialling Dean’s number. “Go for it,” he answered absently.

Needy packed her boots and wig away in the closet, then disappeared into the bathroom.

It took a while for Dean to answer. “Sam?”

Sam could hear music in the background; most likely a jukebox. Was Dean in one of the bars? Had they just missed each other tonight? “Dean, where are you?” he asked urgently.

“Minnesota. Why?”

“I mean where _exactly_ are you? Because I’m at the motel where you left the Impala.”

“What are you doing there? Are you following me?”

“Of course I’m not! It’s a long story, Dean. I’ll explain when I see you. So where are you?”

There was a short silence, then Dean answered, “If you’re at the motel, I’ll come to you. Want me to pick up something to eat?”

Dean would come with food no matter what Sam said. So he agreed, “Sure. Room 12.”

“Be there in thirty.” Dean hung up.

Sam was smiling as he pocketed his phone.

*

Thirty minutes was long enough for Sam to go from happy he was going to see his brother again, to wondering exactly how he was going to explain Needy, to his real worry: what would he do if Dean rejected him again?

_We should stay away from each other for good._

_You chose a demon over your own brother._

Dean didn’t smile, but he held up two large fast-food bags. “Hey, Sam.”

“It’s good to see you, Dean.” Sam stepped back from the door, inviting Dean in. Not that Dean ever needed an invitation.

Dean gave Sam one of the bags as he stepped over Sam’s salt line. “So, what’s going on?” he asked, pulling out a chair. “Did Bobby tell you I was here?”

“No, I – ”

Needy chose that moment to come out of the bathroom. “Sam, what if – ” she stopped when she saw Dean.

Dean froze for an instant, then dropped his bag of food and reached into his jacket. Sam recognised the gesture and leapt to intercept him. He grabbed Dean’s wrist before he could draw the knife.

“Dean, no!”

Dean rounded on him, which at least took his focus off Needy. “What? Is this what you’ve been doing for the past month? Shacking up with another demon?”

Needy gasped.

Sam couldn’t look at her; couldn’t let her distract him. “She’s not a demon,” he insisted. He pointed to the door. “Look. Salt.”

“Then what is she?” Dean demanded. “’Cause this chick sure as Hell ain’t human! Do you know how many people she’s killed?”

“Fewer than _you_,” Sam retorted. “Or me, for that matter.” He released Dean’s wrist. “Will you please relax and let us explain?”

Dean shot him a furious look, but backed off. “Do you mind if I test her for myself?”

Sam looked at Needy, asking the question silently.

She shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“There’s a devil’s trap by the door,” Sam suggested.

Dean bent down and pulled up the carpet. He examined Sam’s painted devil’s trap with insulting thoroughness. He gestured to Needy.

Needy crossed the room and stepped into the circle. Watching her, Sam realised Dean could be forgiven for assuming they were sleeping together. Needy’s hair was still damp from her bath, her face clean of makeup, rosy-cheeked, her blue eyes bright. She was wearing very short shorts, and the t-shirt of Sam’s she had claimed as a nightshirt. Her feet were bare.

Needy crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Dean. “Okay. Now what?”

Dean drew Ruby’s knife. “Now,” he said, “you step out.”

So she did.

Dean put the knife away. “You hungry?” he offered.

*

“Whatever murdered those men in Madison wasn’t human,” Dean declared. He looked directly at Needy. Might as well throw down the gauntlet. Get it all out in the open.

“She didn’t murder them, she was _hunting _them,” Sam insisted, springing to the girl’s defence. He met Dean’s eyes, his look loaded with meaning. “And she’s as human as I am,” he added.

That rather killed Dean’s ability to argue the point. What he wanted to say was _then she ain’t human at all_, but he couldn’t say that to Sam. Not even if it might be true. But he understood Sam’s meaning.

“Needy,” Sam said quietly. “It will be easier to explain if you show him.”

Needy nodded. She reached across her body with her right hand and pulled up the left sleeve of the ridiculously over-sized t-shirt she was wearing. For a moment, the t-shirt itself distracted Dean: he knew it was Sam’s. But then he saw the ugly bite on Needy’s shoulder. He stood, moving closer to her.

“When we first met,” Sam explained, “I tried every test on her. She passed each one. But just a little holy water on the scar and she reacts like a demon.”

Dean reached out, asking permission with his eyes before he touched her skin. It felt normal. It wasn’t warm the way an infected wound would be. In spite of the way it looked, it felt like healthy skin. Dean nodded to himself.

“I have…stuff I can do,” Needy volunteered. She rolled the sleeve down as Dean withdrew his touch.

“Like killing five men in as many seconds?”

She looked down. “I can move fast when it’s for blood,” she answered. There was an edge of defensiveness in her voice when she went on. “It was more like thirty seconds and those guys deserved it! I should have taken longer!”

“She’s a wildcat,” he commented to Sam.

“She has her moments,” Sam agreed with a wry smile.

Dean looked at him sharply. “What about you, Sammy? Have you been…okay?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t fall off the wagon, if that’s what you mean.” He gave a tiny shake of his head, warning his brother that Needy didn’t know about his demon-blood addiction.

“Okay,” Dean agreed, but he’d heard the odd tone in his brother’s voice. Sam wasn’t lying, but there was something he didn’t want to admit, some question he didn’t want Dean to ask. Dean feigned a yawn and glanced at his watch. It was past two in the morning. “I guess we should call it a night. Sam?”

Sam took the hint. “Uh. Right. Yeah. Needy, I’ll sleep in Dean’s room so you can have some privacy. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Needy smiled brightly. “Sure. You guys go ahead and catch up. Have fun talking about me behind my back.”

“Needy, that’s not – ” Sam broke off and took a deep breath. “We _do_ need to talk privately. But it’s not about you.”

She shrugged. “I’m fine with it, Sam. Go right ahead.”

*

“What are you not telling me?” Dean demanded, slamming the door of his motel room.

“I don’t know what – ”

“That’s crap, Sam. I’ve seen that look way too much in the past year. You’re hiding something. What is it?”

Sam paced a short distance into the room. He turned back to Dean. “Okay. Alright. Just promise you’ll hear me out, Dean. Don’t freak out until you let me explain.”

This sounded bad. Involuntarily, Dean tensed. “I’m listening,” he said warily.

“Needy’s demonic infection, or whatever it is, seems to drain her physically. She thought she needed to kill people to…to recharge, I guess. Or to get her fix. When she said she can move fast for blood, she meant it literally.”

“Well, that’s very human of her,” Dean commented sarcastically.

“She’s human. I’m not sure she’s completely sane, but whether that’s the trauma or the demonic thing, I couldn’t tell you. She was in an asylum.”

“I know. Leech Lake. She busted out of solitary.”

Sam nodded. “When I figured out why she was killing, I…” Sam stopped and sat down on one of the beds. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I haven’t touched demon blood, Dean. I won’t. But…” he rolled up his left sleeve, “…I gave Needy some of mine.” He turned his hand, showing Dean the fresh cut just above his left wrist.

Dean stared at the newly-healed wound. For a long time, he had no words. He wasn’t even certain what he was feeling. Disappointment, anger, disbelief. Sam seemed frozen in place, his hand out toward Dean, his eyes watching Dean warily.

Finally, Dean turned away.

“Dean. At least say _something_.”

Dean didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. It hurt to have driven home, once again, how very far from human his brother had become. Sam didn’t even think like a person any more. Ask a kid who’s crazy and carrying some demonic virus to drink your blood. Who the fuck _does_ that?

“Dean,” Sam pleaded, “I was trying to keep her human.”

“Did it work?”

Sam winced at Dean’s harsh tone. “I think it did. I mean, it kept her from going on another killing spree.”

“Suckin’ on blood makes her _human_,” Dean repeated. _Come on, Sam. You’ve got to hear how insane that sounds._

“It was all I could think of at the time. It’s temporary.” Sam sighed heavily. “I think she deserves a chance, Dean. I did a lot of research, got some pointers from Bobby.” He began to talk faster as he went along, his voice becoming more eager, more like the old Sam. “I think that if we can find the demon and kill it – _kill_ it, not just exorcise it – she’ll be able to heal.”

Dean rounded on him. “How were you plannin’ to kill it, Sam? You left the knife with me!”

In the half-second Sam hesitated, Dean saw the possibility in his eyes. Sam didn’t need the knife to kill demons. He hadn’t needed it to kill Alastair…or Lilith.

“I was going to call _you_,” Sam answered, but the words were too late. Dean knew that Sam had thought about it. Maybe he _had _intended to call Dean, but he’d considered the alternative.

Son of a bitch.

“Breaking the bloodline doesn’t work,” Dean said, abruptly changing the subject.

“Not for werewolves,” Sam agreed. “This is different.”

“What if you’re wrong, Sam?” Madison’s name hung unspoken between them. Breaking the bloodline hadn’t worked for Sam’s werewolf girlfriend.

Sam glanced toward the window as if he expected to see Needy there. He looked unhappy, but then his expression hardened. “If it doesn’t work…if she really does need to kill to go on, I’ll put her down myself.”

*

Needy’s sleep was restless.

In her dreams, she could feel Jennifer again, the night of the prom. She was in the school gym, surrounded by those awful paper trees, listening to that horrible song with her hooker-helmet hair her mom insisted on doing for her. The red plastic cup in her hand clashed horribly with the poofy magenta dress. She was watching for Jennifer, but Jennifer never showed. Needy had been so certain she would be there: the prom was like an all-you-can-eat buffet for the demon in her.

She smelled damp grass and Chip’s skin. And she knew. Somehow she knew Jennifer outsmarted her after all. She was with Chip. They weren’t at the dance. She smelled damp grass again. The park!

The cup of fruit punch fell from her hand, spilling everywhere. Needy didn’t notice. She was already running, shoving kids out of her way as she sped across the dance floor and out of the gym. She ran headlong across the field. She lost her pumps as she ran, but that enabled her to run faster. She knew where Jennifer would take Chip: the old swimming pool. She ran because more than her life depended on it.

In the dream, Needy knew she would be too late, because it was always the same. _I think I died before you got here,_ Chip had told her, the last words he ever spoke, _but I woke up when I heard your voice._ Oh, God, Chip! You’re such an idiot, but I loved you!

Needy’s heartbeat was loud in her ears. It was too loud, like a hammer pounding on a nail. Her mother’s nightmare: _I dreamt they were trying to nail you to a tree with hammers and big stakes. Just like JC!_

Needy sat up in bed, flinging the comforter off her body. But the pounding didn’t stop. She drew her knees up and over the side, feeling the rough carpet against the soles of her feet. She slipped her hand beneath the pillow and drew out the bowie knife, testing the weight of it before she stood up. Warily, she walked toward the door. The pounding went on.

The click of the lock was barely audible, but whoever was banging on the door stopped instantly. Cautiously, Needy opened the door.

“Where’s it at, Monistat?”

Needy felt no surprise to see Jennifer standing there. It was as if she’d expected it, although she hadn’t been consciously aware of her anticipation. Jennifer looked like she always had after a kill: beautiful. She wore a short pink blouse that showed off her cleavage and stomach, a mini skirt, lace stockings and high heels. Gold glinted between her breasts. Her glossy hair fell around her shoulders, framing her lovely face. Her smile was coy, teasing.

The knife felt heavy in Needy’s hand; a comfortable weight. But she knew now that she couldn’t kill Jennifer with a knife. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“What’s wrong, Needy?” Jennifer pouted her perfect lips, cocking her head to one side. “I saw you were here alone and I thought we could have a sleepover.” Her smile turned wicked, but Jennifer-wicked, not evil. “I _love_ the new boyfriend, by the way. He’s extra salty. So much cuter than Chip.”

Needy bristled at Chip’s name. Maybe Chip wasn’t going to win any Mr Universe contests, but he was _hers_. “What do you want, Jennifer?” she asked, her tone hostile.

Jennifer ran the gold chain of her necklace through her fingers, forcing Needy to pay attention to the pendant. It was the BFF heart they had both always worn. “I wanna talk to my best friend,” Jennifer said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

Needy opened the door a little wider, stepping back in a gesture the old Jennifer would have taken as an invitation. Jennifer made no move to enter the room. Of course she didn’t. She couldn’t cross the salt Sam had so-carefully laid down.

“So, talk,” Needy suggested, feeling a little more confident.

“Let me in,” Jennifer pouted. She leaned casually against the door jam the way she’d always lounged against her locker at school.

“I don’t think so,” Needy answered, though she was tempted to do as Jennifer asked. If Sam was right, Jennifer would be stuck inside the devil’s trap as soon as she stepped over the threshold. Then Needy could exorcise her. Her heart sped up with excitement and she was suddenly grateful to Sam for making her memorise all that Latin. The opening words of the exorcism were clear in her mind. She could do this.

Jennifer’s expression turned hard. “This is all your fault, you know,” she accused. “You lied to those Low Shoulder guys…”

“I was defending you!” Needy responded hotly. Sam’s warnings about demons being able to fool her were forgotten. This was Jennifer. This was her best friend, since before she could talk. Her BFF, just like their matching pendants said. Her sister. And Jennifer’s words were the truth: Needy was responsible. If she hadn’t lied about Jennifer being a virgin, they wouldn’t have chosen her for their sacrifice and…

Jennifer lunged for Needy, her hand curled into a claw.

Needy jumped back. Jennifer’s fingertips brushed the front of her t-shirt, but her hand closed on thin air.

“They put me in the ground!” she screeched. She didn’t look like Jennifer now; her eyes were wild with fury, her beautiful features twisted.

Instinctively, Needy raised the knife, but Jennifer was still on the other side of the salt-line. She raised both hands, resting them on the door frame and blocking Needy’s exit, but Needy had no intention of leaving the room. They had a stalemate. For a wild moment, Needy considered breaking the salt line so Jennifer could enter. How else could she get Jennifer into the devil’s trap? But what if it didn’t work?

Jennifer screamed, a horrible sound. She whirled around, her long hair flying. White smoke rose from the back of her blouse, or from her skin…Needy couldn’t tell. At first, she didn’t understand what was happening. Then she saw Sam.

Sam strode toward them. The look on his face scared Needy more than Jennifer ever had and she was glad it wasn’t directed at her. Sam was completely focussed on Jennifer, pulling the top off a second bottle of holy water as he moved.

Jennifer streaked toward him, her arms outstretched. Sam had no time to throw more water. Jennifer’s momentum carried them both to the ground, a tangle of limbs.

“Sam!” Needy didn’t stop to think that Sam was capable of defending himself. The only thoughts in her head were of the friends Jennifer had killed and of Jennifer herself, with Chip’s blood streaked down the front of her prom dress. She wouldn’t – couldn’t – let the demon have Sam, too.

A hand gripped her arm, painfully hard. Dean shoved her back into the room. “Stay there! Sam knows what he’s doing!”

If Needy’s anger could kill, Dean Winchester would have dropped dead on the spot. Her back hit the doorframe when he shoved her and she glared at him in impotent rage. How dare he try to stop her? Dean’s big body blocked her way, implacable.

But Needy wasn’t a normal teenager. Not any more. She gathered her strength and thought about him bleeding onto the floor. She felt her feet leave the ground and braced herself against the door frame. Then she kicked out with all of her more-than-human strength. Her bare foot struck him right between the shoulder-blades and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Needy flew over him, intent on helping Sam.

In the few seconds it had taken her to deal with Dean, Sam’s fight with Jennifer was over. Jennifer backed away from him, screaming, clawing at her wet shirt as it smoked against her skin. She looked toward Needy swiftly, then turned tail and ran into the darkness.

Sam was on the ground, struggling to get up, but Needy didn’t see any blood on him. “Dean!” Sam yelled, even as Needy reached down to help him up.

Dean ran past them both. “On it!” he threw back over his shoulder.

Sam shook off Needy’s attempt to help him and clambered up under his own power. “Are you okay? Needy!”

“I’m…alright.” She managed to speak, but it came out barely a whisper as reaction set in.

“What were you thinking? You should have called me!” Sam grasped Needy’s shoulders in both of his hands and firmly walked her backward into the motel room, back inside the salt line. “Jesus, you’re white as a sheet!”

For some reason, his concern ended Needy’s courage. Her legs buckled and she felt herself begin to fall, but the next moment she was in Sam’s arms, his strength supporting her. He was so _big_, she felt like a little kid next to him. She felt protected, and she was grateful for that.

It took a while for her breathing to steady, and even then Needy wasn’t sure she could stand on her own. But she leaned back a little so she could look up at him. “I was going to call,” she explained. “I thought she’d come in. The devil’s trap would have worked, right?”

Sam stroked her back gently. “It would have worked, but that’s too much risk, Needy.”

“Why did you chase her off? I thought the plan was to send her back to Hell.”

Sam moved toward the bed. When Needy resisted, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, kicking the door closed behind him. He laid her down gently and then sat on the other bed. Needy looked up at him. All traces of the anger and hate she’d seen in him were gone. His expression was concerned.

“Needy,” he began, “you are not alone in this. My brother and I have been hunters for a long time. Trust us.”

Needy noticed that he hadn’t answered her question, but she nodded. “You’re right. I should have called.”

The door opened, and Needy jumped, her heart racing.

Sam touched her hand, soothing. “It’s okay.”

It was Dean. “She’s gone,” he reported grimly.

Sam nodded. “We’ll find her.”

Needy barely heard him. She backed away from the brothers toward the wall. Her breath was coming in short pants. Her hands were shaking and her stomach fluttered inside her. Fear filled her, and she hugged herself tightly, her heart pounding, pressing herself back against the wall. She was in way over her head. She should have stayed in Leech Lake…

Sam came toward her and grasped her shoulders, turning her physically to face him. “Snap out of it, Needy!”

“I…I’m scared,” she whispered.

“No. _She_ is. You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met, Needy. This isn’t your fear.”

She heard his words, but they didn’t make sense. What…?

Sam slapped her, open-handed, hard.

Needy’s head slammed into the wall with the force of Sam’s blow, but the stinging pain did distract her from the gut-wrenching terror. Something inside her snapped and she reacted automatically: she drew back her right arm and hit him back with all her strength.

Sam jerked back in an attempt to evade her punch, but he moved too slowly. She clipped his jaw and Sam fell backward, then lost his balance and fell off the bed onto the floor. Needy cried out in pain and cradled her hand against her chest.

Dean laughed and she shot him a poisonous look, pissed that he was amused by her pain.

Sam rose to his feet, eyeing Needy warily. “You okay?”

Understanding burst on her. “It’s Jennifer!” she exclaimed, staring at Sam. “She’s terrified. But I don’t know why!”

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm roughly. “Will one of you clue me in?” he demanded.

Sam shook Dean off. “Needy has a psychic connection to the demon,” he explained. “I don’t know why. Dean, I think I should stay with her tonight.”

Dean looked from Sam to Needy, then back again. He didn’t seem to want to leave Sam alone with her, but he nodded. “Whatever you want. But you’d both better come clean in the morning.”

“We’ll tell you everything,” Sam promised.

Dean half-turned toward the door. He glanced back at Sam and mouthed something Needy couldn’t see. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Sam reached for Needy’s hand. She flinched away from his touch.

“Wait here,” he instructed. He pulled something from his bag and walked out of the door. Needy stayed where she was. She wasn’t so much obeying his instruction as she didn’t know what else to do. She felt frozen in place, Jennifer’s terror still twisting her insides, making her heart race. She could separate it from her own thoughts, now she understood what it was, but it still paralysed her. This was all too much to process.

Sam returned with a cloth full of ice. He laid it gently across her torn knuckles. “I’d tell you you hit like a girl, but that wouldn’t really be true,” he said, touching his own jaw gingerly. She could see a bruise beginning there.

Needy smiled shakily. “Thanks. I think.” She took a deep breath, the horror she felt beginning to fade into the background. She adjusted the ice on her hand. It did help with the bruises.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m…” she started to say she was fine, but then hot, intense pain shot through her injured hand. It drew a gasp from her, and then a scream. She was dimly aware of Sam holding her, his mouth moving, but she couldn’t hear him over all the screaming. She shoved him away from her, holding her hands up like a shield. For an instant she stood inside a dark room and a single beam of light illuminated a man’s face looming over her.

Then there was nothing.

*

The demon calling herself Jennifer ran from the pain, but the holy water saturated her shirt, so she carried the pain with her. Her feet flew across the field; the high heels no hindrance to her speed. She leapt the wall and landed in a crouch on the other side. Only then did she look back. There was no one in pursuit.

She pulled the shirt off as she walked, tarmac beneath her feet now, her skin still smarting from the holy water burn. The strap of her bra was wet, too, and it stung her fingers as she unhooked it and let it fall to the ground behind her.

He was waiting for her outside the school building.

“Bitch wouldn’t let me in,” she grumbled.

“That’s a pity.” His rich voice sent shivers down her spine. “And the man?”

“He…” she stopped herself just in time, “…was there,” she finished.

“Jennifer, Jennifer,” he crooned, tutting under his breath in mock-disappointment. He reached out toward her face.

She flinched back before he could touch her, but then she saw his face. Steeling herself for pain, she stood her ground. She had no choice. She needed what he had promised her. She could deal with the pain.

The tips of his fingers touched her cheek and he was inside her head. She screamed in agony. The touch of his skin burned like a brand. The touch of his mind to hers was Hell itself. She fell to her knees, still screaming. He rifled through her mind like he was shuffling a deck of cards. She couldn’t tell what he was looking for.

The pain went on forever.

When her throat burned from her screams, it filtered through her awareness that it was over. She was curled into a ball on the steps before the big double doors. Her remaining clothing was a mess, her hair wet and tangled. She pushed against the ground with both hands, raising her head and shoulders off the cold stone.

Then she threw up all over his shoes.

“It’s unfortunate,” he said mildly, “but not unexpected. Come.” The doors opened at his touch and he took a single step over the threshold.

Jennifer could barely move, but she didn’t dare disobey. She struggled to her feet. She pulled her skirt straight and shook out her hair so it covered her bare breasts.

“Don’t make me go back,” she pleaded.

In answer, he offered his hand, a slight smile curving his lips. “Poor Jennifer,” he crooned. “You didn’t deserve any of this, did you?”

Jennifer looked at his hand, but made no move to take it, recalling his burning touch.

“Take my hand,” he ordered.

She braced herself and took his hand. He laced his fingers with hers. There was no pain. His touch was cool.

“You were just a girl looking for a good time,” he told her as he led her through the dark corridors of the school. “You were slutting around high school, never giving a thought to anyone but yourself.” His hand tightened on hers, the pressure painful, but nothing compared to the earlier agony. “You thought a gang bang with a rock band would be a new kind of fun, but now look at you. Trapped in your own meat suit with a demon riding you.” He leaned close and hissed into her ear, “I can hear your soul screaming…Jennifer.”

The bones of Jennifer’s hand cracked under the pressure. Blood poured from her fingers as bone ripped through the skin. She tried to pull away but it was far too late. He only squeezed harder, crushing her bones to fragments. Only then did he let her go.

She cradled her ruined hand against her chest, but she didn’t ask why. She knew why. She had failed him.

He flung open the gymnasium door, revealing what lay within. “For you,” he said simply.

On the floor of the gym lay a teenage boy, bound hand and foot, staked out like a sacrifice. He was naked and he was beautiful. He gazed up at Jennifer, and the fear in his eyes warred with lust. His gaze locked on her bare breasts and she saw his cock swell.

Jennifer no longer cared about the pain. What a lovely gift this boy was. She would feed and when she was full, she could heal.

Smiling, she shed the rest of her clothing. She stood above the boy, gazing down at him for a long moment of anticipation before she knelt between his bound ankles. She bent toward his groin, breathing in the mingled scents of his fear and his excitement. This would be delicious.

Her smile became predatory and she began to feed. Blood spurted into her face and she licked her lips, delighted.

This time, the screams came from the boy.

*

Needy came back to herself in Sam’s arms. They were lying on the bed, Needy on her side with Sam spooned around her back. His body warmed her, but part of her was shivering. Sam was still holding the bag of ice to her right hand.

“Needy,” Sam whispered against her hair.

“I’m…okay,” she answered uncertainly. She wanted to ask what happened to her, but she was a little afraid of the answer.

Sam shifted, dropping the cold-pack onto the floor and letting Needy roll onto her back. She looked up into his face and what she saw there made her even more frightened. This time the fear was her own.

“I need to ask you a question,” Sam said quietly. He went on without waiting for Needy to respond. “When Jennifer was at the door and I doused her with holy water, did you feel her pain?”

“No.” Needy didn’t need to think about it. She remembered: she hadn’t understood why Jennifer reacted that way until she saw her clothes smoking.

Sam’s expression became even more grave.

“Why?” Needy asked. “What’s wrong, Sam?”

“Maybe nothing,” he answered, but he didn’t look at her as he spoke and she knew he was lying. “I’m just thinking about this connection you seem to have with Jennifer.”

Needy frowned. “I saw a vision before I passed out. A man. A demon, I guess. He was hurting her.”

“And now?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, but whatever connection she had was gone. “Nothing. I got nothing.”

“Okay. You should sleep now, Needy.” Sam was stroking her hair, his big hand following her curls from her head to shoulder, over and over. She realised he’d been doing that for a long time. She rather liked it.

“I don’t think I can,” she answered.

Sam leaned in and kissed her forehead gently. “You’re safe, Needy.”

She turned her head upward so she could see his face and his next kiss was on her lips. The kiss was brief and might have been unintended, but for Needy it was too much. She shoved him away and clambered off the bed. Her lips tingled and she had to fight not to touch them. The last person she kissed was Chip, when he was dying in her arms.

Sam backed off when she pushed him away. “I’m sorry, Needy. I thought we…”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, it’s okay. Just…I don’t think…” she broke off, not sure what she wanted to say. _We shouldn’t? It’s wrong?_ Needy had killed six men; she was way past conventional notions of right and wrong. _This isn’t a good idea?_ But how could she know that? Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Sam was attractive. And kind. And he understood her.

Sam came toward her. He brushed her hair back from her face. “It’s the end of the world, Needy. And that’s not a line, it really is the end. So I’m not making any long term plans.”

She managed a weak smile. “And _that’s_ not a line?”

“No, it’s just truth. I’m not interested in talking you into something you don’t want.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I want to be with you tonight, Needy, but only if you want me, too.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Did you look in a mirror lately? Who wouldn’t?”

“Thanks. But you’re still looking at me like I might rape you or something.”

Was she? She hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t Sam she feared. Needy took a deep breath and stepped toward him. “I’m just not so sure this is a good idea.”

“You’re over-thinking it.” Sam cupped her cheek in his hand, lifting her face to his. When he kissed her, Needy kissed him back, parting her lips to let him in.

“Maybe this is a guy thing, but I think it helps put the rest out of your mind for a while. One night of really good sex.”

Needy smirked. “Yeah. That’s a guy thing.”

Sam let her go. “Alright. I’ll move to the other bed.”

It was only when he caved that Needy realised that wasn’t what she wanted. Not at all. She grabbed his arm. “No. Don’t.”

She would probably regret this. But tonight, she wanted to be reckless. She wanted to drown the memory of Jennifer in something foolish…but fun.

Sam sat down on the bed and reached for her hands. She let him draw her onto his lap. Sam kissed her again and this time she kissed him back. Then he did a lot more than kiss her.


	5. Chapter 5

If you’re out on a moonlit night  
Be careful of them neighbourhood strays  
Of a lady with long black hair  
Tryin’ to win you with her feminine ways

Cliff Richard, _Devil Woman_

Sam handed the coffee to Needy over the seat-back. She smiled her thanks and Sam smiled back. Last night had been good. Sam was still waiting for Dean to give him shit about it. When Dean left their motel room last night, he’d known exactly what was on Sam’s mind, mouthing _jailbait_ before he headed out the door. Sam didn’t much care what Dean thought of his sex life: his brother didn’t exactly have any moral high ground to stand on. But he didn’t want Needy caught up in the fall-out. She _was_ very young and he felt protective.

Sam settled back into the seat. “Where were we?” he asked.

“Anticipation.” Needy balanced the coffee cup on her knee. “That’s what she was feeling last night. She knew we were here. She was stalking us.”

They were eating breakfast in Dean’s car because Dean hadn’t wanted to wait for Needy to pile on her Goth makeup and Sam was afraid she might be recognised at the diner. Needy sat in the back seat and the brothers in the front. There was music playing, but Sam had turned the volume down so they could talk.

“I want to know about possession,” Needy announced.

Dean twisted around, one arm stretched out across the seat. “What do you want to know?”

“What happens to the person who’s possessed? I mean, if you do an exorcism, is it possible for the person to be okay?”

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean. They both knew it was possible, but demons didn’t take good care of their human bodies. Sam remembered Ruby’s description with revulsion: _demons leave ’em rode hard and put up wet._ He’d been able to save a few by pulling demons with his psychic ability, but even then many of them died or were so badly hurt they would never recover. And that was without taking the mental scars into account. Ruby’s knife might kill the victim, but that was often kinder.

It was Sam who answered. “It’s possible, but demons…” he hesitated, “they ride their bodies pretty hard. While the demon is in there they heal, any injury. I’ve seen a demon fall eight storeys and just walk away. But when the demon is pulled out, all that comes back on the human body. The shock is too much for most people even if the injuries aren’t deadly.”

“So they die,” Needy said, looking down.

“Not always.” Sam looked at Dean, silently asking if he should go on.

Dean offered an unhelpful shrug and went right on eating his breakfast.

Sam turned back to Needy. “Needy, I think I made a mistake.”

For a moment, Needy looked stricken and Sam realised she thought he meant last night was a mistake. As if he’d talk about that in front of Dean! He went on quickly. “Last night, when I doused Jennifer in holy water, you didn’t feel that pain. But you did feel whatever that other demon did to her.”

“He crushed her hand.” Needy rubbed her own hand as if she still felt it. Her knuckles were bruised…but then so was Sam’s jaw.

“Exactly. You only felt the physical injury.”

“What’s your point, Sam?” Dean asked impatiently.

“I think Needy’s psychic connection is to Jennifer, not to the demon. Which would mean Jennifer is still alive in there.”

“No!” Needy cried, almost spilling her coffee. “You told me she was dead! Those guys killed her.”

“I think they did, Needy.” Sam looked very unhappy. “I don’t believe she can survive an exorcism, but you need to understand this. If she was still alive when the demon took her, even if she was dying…”

“She’s alive now. She’s trapped in there.” Needy sounded sick. She set her food aside. “My vision,” she said quietly. “All that blood. Hopelessness. It was Jennifer.” Sam saw tears brimming in her eyes and looked away, giving her privacy.

“How does that work?” Dean asked. “Your psychic thing?” He crushed the paper bag which had held his breakfast, gestured as if he intended to pitch it into the back, where Needy sat, then apparently thought better of it.

Needy frowned. “I don’t really know. I never thought of myself as psychic until Sam told me I am.” She was silent for a moment, considering. “Jennifer and I have been close since we were babies. She’s my best friend. My sister. I could always feel a connection with her. It was simple things like she’d phone me and I’d know it was her before I answered. Or I could feel her outside my house before she knocked on the door.”

“Was this only with Jennifer?” Sam asked. “Or do you sometimes know who’s calling when it’s not her?”

Needy shrugged. “I never really thought about it, Sam. I think it was mostly just Jennifer. Maybe Chip, too, but…no. I knew when he was calling because he was so predictable.” She fell silent again, then she realised they were waiting for her to go on. She picked up her story. “It got worse the night Colin died. I saw…a vision. Blood, and Jennifer as some kind of creature, lurking…and, God, it was so real!”

“So it got stronger when she was possessed?” Dean clarified.

Needy agreed that it did.

“Do you know where she is right now?”

“That’s not how it works, Dean,” Needy protested. “I can tell if she’s close, but not where she is. Sometimes I can feel what she’s feeling, but I don’t see her or see through her eyes. Except that one vision.”

“Try,” Dean insisted.

Needy looked past him, through the windshield. Her eyes focussed on the building opposite where they were parked and Sam followed her gaze automatically. It was a bar. A weathered sign above the door read _The Knight Club_. Needy was silent for a long time, her eyes focussed on the sign, but Sam could tell she wasn’t really seeing it.

He was about to tell her to stop, afraid that Dean was pushing her too hard, when she blinked and looked at him.

“Jennifer’s still in town,” Needy said. “I think she’s sleeping, but I’m not sure.”

“She’ll be hunting tonight,” Sam said. “Maybe us. Maybe…not.” He looked grim. “We need some way to make sure it’s us she comes after.”

Dean nodded agreement.

“Uh, guys?” It was clear Needy didn’t like the sound of this. “I was never a big fan of fishing, but I _do_ know that bait is the thing that gets chomped _before_ the fish is reeled in.”

Dean grinned, and Sam knew what he was going to say before he spoke. “Relax. You won’t be the one on the hook. This demon likes guys.” Then Dean’s grin faded. “But I don’t know if bait will work if we don’t know where she’s going to be.”

*

The Impala was parked across the street from a bar that reminded Needy a little of Melody Lane. It was a small place, unkempt but in a comfy, can’t-afford-a-fresh-paintjob way rather than a dirty can’t-be-bothered way. As she watched, a man emerged from the building and erected a blackboard outside the bar. Needy read the message chalked on the board, not really paying attention. Then she realised its significance. A wide smile spread across her face.

“Sam. Dean. I have an idea.” She raised the coffee to her lips to hide her smile.

Both brothers turned to look at her. Dean’s expression said louder than words that he thought she should leave the planning to the pros. Sam merely looked interested.

She addressed her words to Dean. “Look, I’m new to this demon-hunting thing, and I know you both have more experience than I do. But _I’m _the expert in Jennifer. If you want to set a trap for her…” she smiled at Dean, “we’ve got the perfect bait right here.”

Dean’s arch look made it clear he understood her, but he said nothing.

“I know the kind of guy she goes for,” Needy pressed on, “and Dean, baby, you are catnip.” She tried for a smile when she said it. Okay, so she couldn’t flirt for shit. That had always been Jennifer’s thing. She felt her cheeks redden as she spoke, but she knew she was right. In Devil’s Kettle Jennifer killed guys she would never have looked at twice, but that was as much about deflecting suspicion as it was about her taste. Now, she was just hunting.

“Catnip, huh?” Dean glanced at Sam with a crooked smile. “Guess I can play bait. As long as I don’t have to follow-through. Banging demons ain’t my thing.”

Sam scowled.

Dean went on, “But to use bait, you’ve got to have a location to set the trap. What’s the rest of your idea, Needy?”

“Can you sing?” The words came out too fast. Needy’s excitement was growing. Her idea was right, and they were listening to her.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Sing?” he repeated. “For real?”

“What are you thinking, Needy?” Sam asked.

She pointed across the street to the chalk-board advertising an open mic night – tonight. “If you want to get Jennifer’s attention, that’s guaranteed.”

They both looked where she pointed.

“I don’t know,” Sam began.

Dean interrupted him. “I’ve heard worse plans. Why not?”

“Dean, it’s an open mic. It’s not karaoke.”

“So?”

“So you need to supply your own music.”

“I play!”

Sam laughed derisively. “You thought you were Bob Dylan in high school. Dude, even if we still had a guitar, you were never that good.”

Needy’s heart sank. Her plan would only work if Dean could sell it. He didn’t have to be great – his looks would be the bait, not his talent – but he couldn’t be awful. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

Dean hesitated. He looked about to speak, then didn’t. He turned away, fiddled with the radio and then turned it off. “I never told you,” he said eventually, “but after you left, I played a lot. I drove Dad crazy practicing the same three songs over and over. I wanted to piss him off, because he made you leave.”

“He didn’t _make_ me.”

“Not the point, Sam.” Dean held up both hands, wiggling his fingers. “Muscle memory. I can do this. We’ve both done harder things for the job.”

“You still need a guitar,” Sam pointed out dubiously.

“And time to practice,” Dean agreed. “You and Needy stay here. Set things up. I’ll be back…” he checked his watch, “by six.”

Sam shrugged, apparently unwilling to argue further. “I’m not sure Metallica will be Jennifer’s thing.”

“Trust me,” was all Dean said.

*

It bothered Sam a little that Dean never actually agreed to his request that they team up again. They were still in the fight portion of the reunion when Jennifer showed up, and they just naturally slipped back into old roles. Before, Dean had been so adamant that they were better off apart, and he’d given Sam six kinds of Hell over the blood-thing; it made Sam nervous that when this hunt was over, Dean would expect them to go their separate ways again.

Maybe that was behind Dean’s sudden enthusiasm for Needy’s idea – the need for a guitar had taken Dean away from Sam for most of the day, and the plan they’d worked out would keep them apart for most of the evening, too. Had Dean engineered that? No, Sam thought as he ran through a final weapons-check, laying bottles, knives and guns out on the motel bed. He was just being paranoid.

Needy swore and threw something down with a clatter. Her breath huffed out; a sound of frustration.

“Needy?” Sam questioned.

“I’m okay,” she answered, in a voice that suggested she was nothing of the kind.

Sam left the weapons and walked over to stand behind her as she sat facing the mirror. She was partway through applying her Goth makeup and the artificial pallor to her skin made it hard to tell if she was getting sick again. The pale base makeup covered her whole face, even her lips, and her neck. He had to look at her hand to check her skin tone. Her hand looked normal.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I guess I’m nervous. My hands are shaking and I can’t do this!” She waved a hand toward her face.

Sam touched her shoulder and Needy turned to face him. She looked up and he could see the black line beneath her left eye where she’d tried to apply kohl. It wasn’t exactly straight. But this was a girl issue; not something Sam could help with.

“Do you need more?” Sam asked her seriously. It was too soon; based on her own story she should have been able to go two weeks on the blood he’d given her. He wondered if it made a difference that she hadn’t killed. He hoped not: if he had to give her blood again, Dean was going to see her as something to hunt. Sam still believed he could save her.

Needy’s blue eyes met his, full of confusion. He knew the exact moment she comprehended his meaning, because what replaced her confusion was desire. Open, naked desire. Sam struggled to control his own expression, remembering Ruby’s blood on his own tongue, the warmth of her flesh, the taste of blood, unexpectedly rich…and the rush of power it always gave him.

And suddenly, the urge to taste _her_ blood was almost overpowering. Needy wasn’t a demon. It wouldn’t be falling off the wagon…would it?

“It’s okay if you do,” Sam said, his throat suddenly dry.

Needy tore her gaze away from his; it seemed to be a real effort. “What am I?” she whispered. Her left hand, gripping the edge of the table, was white-knuckled.

Sam understood. She didn’t _need_ more blood. But she wanted it.

He reached out to cup her cheek gently. “You’re a seventeen-year-old girl who’s dealing with something that would make most people crazy,” he answered her question.

“You told me vampires are real.” There was a slight tremor in her voice.

“You’re not a vampire, Needy. You’re alive. They’re not.” He brushed a stray lock of blonde hair back from her face. “The blood thing…believe me, I know how gross it is, and I know it feels like it’s changing you. But you are still Needy. You’ll be okay.”

She nodded, unconvinced.

“Do you need more?” he asked again, hating that he was using Ruby’s words.

Needy drew in a deep breath, which did interesting things to her cleavage under the low-cut top. “No,” she answered firmly. “I’m fine.” She turned back to the mirror and picked up the kohl pencil again.

Sam left Needy to her makeup and set about getting himself ready for the night ahead. He couldn’t see himself going Goth, but he would have to make an effort to blend his look with Needy’s, so they wouldn’t look too out of place as a couple. He settled for all black clothing: army-surplus boots, cargo pants and a shirt he could wear open at the neck. He laid the clothing out on the bed then went into the bathroom to shower and shave.

He emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, not bothering with modesty since she’d seen him naked the night before. Needy had fixed her makeup. She smiled at him, making a show of looking him up and down. Sam had enough of an ego to enjoy her appreciation.

“There isn’t time,” he told her, returning her smile.

“I know. Dean called while you were in the shower. He’ll be here by seven.”

“Thanks.” Sam turned around to begin dressing. He heard Needy come up behind him.

Her fingers were cool on his bare back. “Sam, what’s this?”

He knew at once what she saw there. _It’s how I killed my brother,_ he thought. Aloud he said, “It’s just an old knife wound.” He hoped his voice sounded sufficiently casual.

Needy probed the scar carefully and Sam knew she wasn’t fooled. “That’s right on your spine. If someone stabbed you there, how is it you can still walk?”

Sam moved away from her touch. “Long story,” he answered curtly. He went on getting dressed. Once his clothing was in place he strapped a knife to his calf and concealed a gun at his back. He slid a hip-flask of holy water into his pocket, and had another bottle for his jacket pocket. He offered a third bottle to Needy.

“I have plenty.” She opened her mini-backpack to show him. She looked up then, her face very serious. “Sam, I have to know something.”

Sam could tell she had been waiting for this. She was determined to know. He nodded. “Alright.”

“Is it possible to come that close to death and walk away?”

Sam remembered her tears over Jennifer and knew exactly where she was going with the question. He came back from the dead. But the price for his life was far higher than Sam would ever have agreed to pay and the consequences…

The hopeful look on Needy’s face was heartbreaking. Sam hated to crush that hope, but he had to make her understand.

Sam knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. “No, Needy. It’s not possible,” he said firmly.

“But…but you…”

“There are ways it can happen,” he admitted reluctantly. “Evil ways. The price is always too high, Needy. Please believe me. Would you trade an innocent life for your friend?”

“I’d trade mine,” she answered at once.

It was just what Sam didn’t want to hear. _Trading your life is easy, Needy. Would you trade your soul?_ He did not ask the question out loud. Instead, he pulled her to him and told her, “It’s never that easy, sweetheart. I wish it could be.”

She answered him, her voice muffled against his body. “She was my friend, Sam. Oh, God, if there’s any chance she’s still alive…”

“We’ll do everything we can,” Sam promised her, but he knew in his heart the best they could offer Jennifer was a clean death.

*

Sam asked the bartender for two beers and leaned back against the bar while the man retrieved the bottles. Needy was waiting on the other side of the room. She sat on a high stool, having claimed for them a table built around one of the tall pillars. Her ruffled skirt rode up, revealing the slim length of her thigh. She raised a hand to her blue-and-black wig as he watched, but then let the hand drop, thinking better of it. The Goth look certainly transformed her. Needy seemed more comfortable with the disguise than she’d been the previous night. Sam paid for the drinks and headed back to her side, weaving between the tables as he walked. When Needy looked his way and saw him coming, Sam pointed one of the bottles toward the pool table, asking silently if she wanted to play. They might as well. They had some time to kill before the big plan could get started.

Needy jumped down from her stool and headed for the pool table, pacing her stride so they reached it from opposite sides at the same time.

Sam gave her one of the bottles he carried. “Make it last,” he advised. “You need to look like you’re drinking, but you’ll want to keep your head clear.”

She touched the bottle to her lips, but didn’t drink.

Sam smiled approvingly. “Can you play?” He reached for a cue.

“Not really,” Needy shrugged. “I’m more of a pinball fan.”

Sam gave her the cue and began to stack the balls. “You know the rules, right?” he asked her. He knew she did: she’d spent hours watching him play – hustle – a few nights earlier. She’d picked up the con impressively quickly. But this was just for fun, to help them both relax until showtime.

Needy’s answer was to bend over the table and break. She had a strong arm and the balls scattered well. She smiled at him smugly as she stepped back.

“I guess you do,” Sam agreed, though he could have done better. He studied the table for a moment. “Top left,” he decided, and played the shot. When was the last time he’d played pool purely for fun? Sam wondered. It was always part of a hustle when he played Dean.

Sam won the first game easily. As they played the second, he noticed Needy considering her shots more carefully, taking time to study the table and plan her strategy. Sam deliberately missed a few shots, giving her more time at the table, but he still won. Immediately, Needy stacked the balls for a third game.

This time, Sam took the time to tutor her, pointing out opportunities, correcting her aim and showing her how to plan a shot to both sink the ball and position the cue ball for the next shot. He leaned over the table with her, one of his hands resting lightly on her waist as he explained a move.

“It’s all in where you strike the cue ball. You want just a smidge below dead centre.” He put just a little pressure on her hand, adjusting her aim. “Not too low – you don’t want to make it jump. Just corkscrew.”

Sam felt Needy stiffen under his hand. He let go of her right away, not sure what he’d done wrong. He was about to apologise when he saw where she was looking.

“Needy, don’t stare,” he ordered quietly, resisting the temptation to look for himself. He backed away from the pool table, giving Needy room to take her shot. He raised an empty beer bottle to his lips to cover his glance toward the mirror on the far wall. In its reflection, he saw her.

The night before, Sam hadn’t really seen Jennifer. What he saw outside the motel room was a demon with long, dark hair and his mind immediately leapt to Ruby. Though he knew Ruby was dead, the blind rage that rose up when he so much as thought of her had driven him and he saw only the threat, a demon to be destroyed. Jennifer fled before Sam had time to notice her true appearance.

Now he wondered how he could possibly have failed to notice her. Jennifer was stunning. Her hair was waist length, straight and glossy-black, shining under the dim lights of the bar. Her face was almost glowing, a lovely smile stretching full lips, and somehow even from his distance Sam could see her eyes were cerulean blue. The glitter of gold drew his eyes downward and he saw the pendant between her breasts, setting off the creamy skin. She wore a yellow top and skin-tight black jeans. A heavy diamante-studded belt glittered low on her hips, making sure every red-blooded male with 20/20 vision would notice her ass, just as the pendant drew the eye to her breasts.

Sam drew in a shaky breath. Jennifer was no mere demon. He was looking at a succubus in full-on hunting mode.

“Sam.” Needy nudged him, nodding toward the pool table.

It was his turn. Sam wrenched his attention away from Jennifer and his heart-rate steadied. The desire to look her way again was almost overwhelming. Her pull was more powerful than he’d realised – all that just from her reflection? And Dean was going up against that thing! Fuck!

They were too conspicuous at the pool table. Sam picked up his cue and cleared the table quickly, barely even pausing between shots. He nodded to the two young men who had been hovering while he tutored Needy, waiting for their turn. “Thanks for waiting, guys.”

One of them grinned at Needy. “Sure, no problem.”

Sam led Needy away, pulling out his phone.

The timing of Jennifer’s arrival was almost perfect: Dean was here and the open mic entertainment was about to begin. But Sam was worried now. It wasn’t their first succubus; Dean could handle it, as long as he was forewarned. But Sam couldn’t talk to Dean because the plan depended on Jennifer not knowing they were connected. So he sent a text message instead:

 
    
    
    SHES A SUCCUBUS. C HER? U OK WITH THIS?

 

The words couldn’t convey his concerns, but he expected Dean to understand.

Sam located a free table where they could watch both Jennifer and the stage. He left Needy there and made his way through the crowd to the bar. There were a lot of people here tonight: evidently the open mic was a draw for the locals. Sam’s phone buzzed before he got there. It was Dean’s reply:

 
    
    
    DUDE RELAX I NO HOW 2 GET A HOT CHICK 2 WANT ME ;)

 

Sam groaned. Then he ordered two beers and some food. He wasn’t particularly hungry but he wanted the food to cushion the alcohol. If Dean was about to do something stupid, Sam could not afford to be off his game. Not even two beers off his game.

Needy gave him a smile when he returned. “You okay, Sam? You look worried.”

He showed her Dean’s text message. “There are so many ways this could go wrong.”

Now Needy looked worried. “Why? Dean said – ”

Sam caught himself. It wasn’t Needy’s fault she hadn’t known what Jennifer was. How could she know? He didn’t want to make her more nervous than she was: he needed her on her game tonight, too. So he focussed on the earlier problem, the one that suddenly seemed irrelevant.

“Look at him,” he interrupted her, nodding to where Dean sat, drinking whiskey in a corner with the others who were planning to take advantage of the open mic. “He has an acoustic guitar. Dean’s style of music is a bit more…”

“Heavy metal,” Needy nodded. “I remember. But, you know, an electric guitar would have cost a lot more. He’d have needed amps, too.” She caught Sam’s expression and smiled suddenly. “What? I know stuff.”

Before he’d seen Jennifer and realised what she was, Sam had been fighting a vision of Dean trying to belt out _Dead or Alive_ or _Eye of the Tiger_ on the stage and he might have seriously considered leaving Dean to face the demon alone to avoid that embarrassment. Now, he half-hoped Dean would make an ass of himself, so the succubus would pick a different victim. But he also knew that Dean was right about one thing: when Dean turned on the charm, it very rarely failed.

Someone came onto the stage to introduce the first performers: a woman singing with a man playing the piano. As they began their set, Sam watched Jennifer move through the throng toward the stage. Almost every man Jennifer passed took notice as she walked by. She chose a place close to the stage, but also in full view of the side where the performers waited. Dean smiled her way, and raised his whiskey glass in a salute with a swift wink. Dean in I-want-to-get-laid mode. Sam frowned, worried. He told himself Dean knew what he was doing, but he didn’t really convince himself. The burger he had been enjoying a moment before was suddenly tasteless.

The woman singing was quite good. Her voice was a rich contralto, suited to the ballads her pianist played. The pianist was _very_ good. Through it all, Jennifer watched the singer, her expression slightly bored.

The second performer was _not_ good. The singer was a young man, maybe not even old enough to drink. Sam hoped the guy was doing this for a bet. If he was trying to impress a girl he was going to be seriously disappointed.

Needy leaned across to Sam. “Look!”

The singer reaching for, but failing to hit, a high note in his song, had distracted Sam, but at Needy’s urgent order he searched for Jennifer again. She was talking to Dean. Dean had the guitar across his lap as if he was about to start playing, but he was smiling up at Jennifer with a confident grin Sam recognised: Dean thought he’d scored.

“She’s going for it,” Needy said, as quietly as she could and still be heard. “As long as he doesn’t suck when he sings…”

“Dean says he knows what he’s doing,” Sam answered her, but her comment reminded him of his earlier doubts. On stage, the kid was mangling _Every Breath You Take_.

“Can I kill him?” Needy asked conversationally. “Or at least, you know, kick him a little?”

Sam saw the little quirk to her mouth that indicated she was joking, so Sam answered in the same light tone, “Only if he does _Cry Me a River_.”

Dean gave Jennifer his best cocky grin and moved away from her. Sam wondered why: Dean’s usual MO was to keep them talking. He saw Dean approach the piano player and engage him in conversation.

A few people applauded politely as the singer left the stage, thankfully without singing _Cry Me a River_. Now it was Dean’s turn. Dean carried a tall stool onto the stage with him and adjusted the height of the mic before going back for his guitar. A hush fell over the crowd as Dean took his place, the guitar resting on his thigh. Sam realised this was something new for the audience. Dean wasn’t a local, and they were probably used to “the usual suspects” singing on these nights.

Dean strummed the guitar, adjusted one string and leaned into the mic. “Good evening, Providence,” he said sounding for all the world like a visiting rock star, and a ripple of appreciative applause ran through the room. Dean began to play, picking out a melody that sounded vaguely familiar to Sam. Sam couldn’t immediately name it, but at least it wasn’t Metallica or AC/DC. Sam looked for Jennifer. She had moved closer to the stage, her bright eyes fixed on Dean, but Dean didn’t look at her once. What was Dean doing? The whole point of this was to get Jennifer’s attention. Ignoring her wasn’t the way to do that.

Then Dean began to sing.

 

_I’m a worried man with a worried mind_   
_No one in front of me and nothing behind_   
_There’s a woman on my lap and she’s drinking champagne…_

 

Sam caught his breath. He knew the song now: Bob Dylan’s _Things Have Changed_. It wasn’t what he expected from Dean, but it suited him. Dean’s fingers fumbled a little on the guitar strings when he started to sing; with so little time to practice it couldn’t be easy to do both at once. But he held the melody and his voice never faltered.

 

_People are crazy and times are strange_   
_I’m locked in tight, I’m outta range…_

 

Sam looked for Jennifer again. She was watching Dean, running the chain of her pendant through her fingers as if bored.

Sam leaned across to Needy. “I think we’re losing her. I’ll – ”

“Ssh!” she hissed, her eyes locked on Dean.

 

_I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road_  
_If the Bible is right, the world will explode_  
_I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can_…

 

Dean met Sam’s eyes briefly as he sang that part, and Sam recognised the message in the words. An expression of solidarity. Sam smiled back, but by then Dean’s eyes had already moved on. That was sensible: a longer look and Jennifer might have noticed.

The song came to an end and the applause began. Dean took a sip of his whiskey and saluted his audience with the glass. He glanced pointedly to one side and Sam noticed the pianist take his place at the instrument again. The pianist nodded to Dean, who tapped out a slow beat on the body of his guitar, giving the pianist the tempo he wanted.

The pianist began to play and this time Sam recognised the song instantly. When Sam was nine years old _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ was on every radio station and music channel in America. It was inescapable, even among the typical music of his family. The Bob Dylan song seemed to suit Dean; this one didn’t, although it was one of the few chart hits he’d enjoyed back in the nineties. It was an even stranger choice of song for this purpose.

Though the tune was familiar, the tempo wasn’t; the pianist played noticeably slower than the original. Dean’s guitar joined the piano, Dean plucking out the melody, though the piano dominated. That was a good idea: the piano covered most of Dean’s mistakes. Dean’s eyes swept the audience as he leaned into the mic. He smiled directly at Jennifer and sang

 

_Load up on guns, bring your friends_   
_It’s fun to lose and to pretend…_

 

Sam couldn’t help smiling, too. For kids Dean’s age and a bit older, the nonsensical lyrics had been a generation’s call to rebellion. For Sam, it was the soundtrack of the year his safe world fell to pieces under the revelations of what his Dad really did when he went out at nights. Maybe it had inspired his own rebellion, as well.

 

_She’s overboard and self assured_   
_Oh, no, I know a dirty word_   
_Hello, hello, hello…_

 

Dean’s gaze was locked on Jennifer as he sang. Only he could make that repeated, crooned _hello_ sound pornographically suggestive.

Sam shook his head in awe of his big brother as he abruptly understood Dean’s intent. He was making the song itself a seduction…and damn if it wasn’t working. Jennifer stood mesmerised; the gold heart dangling from her frozen fingers an inch above her breasts.

 

_I’m worse at what I do best_   
_And for this gift I feel blessed_   
_Our little group has always been_   
_And always will until the end_   
_Hello, hello, hello…_

 

Sam felt heat rising into his cheeks…and other body parts. He squirmed on his bar stool, unable to tear his eyes away from Dean, but feeling like he was spying on his brother in an act far more intimate than simply singing. What the Hell was wrong with him? He didn’t react to his brother this way! He clenched his fist beneath the table and forced himself to watch Jennifer instead of Dean.

Jennifer took a single step toward the stage and it didn’t seem to be voluntary. Her lips were slightly parted as she gazed at him. Dean’s eyes left her face for just a moment, and Sam could see her disappointment. She looked, for those two seconds, like a kicked puppy, utterly bewildered by the pain. Then Dean locked gazes with her again, as he sang the so-familiar refrain.

 

_With the lights out, it’s less dangerous_   
_Here we are now, entertain us_   
_I feel stupid and contagious_   
_Here we are now, entertain us_

 

Jennifer licked her lips.

The music faded away and there was a moment of silence before the applause began. It was no polite ripple this time, but real, thunderous applause. Dean never took his eyes off Jennifer. He smiled for her and leaned into the mic. “Thank you, you’re a great audience,” he drawled, the words for her alone. Then he sauntered off the stage and hurried around to Jennifer’s side.

“Son of a bitch. He did it.” Sam shook his head, unclenching his fist. His fingers ached. He glanced over to Needy.

Needy was gazing at the empty stage. She shook herself visibly and turned to Sam. Even beneath the Goth makeup he could see the blush in her cheeks. “Are you sure,” Needy asked, “that _you’re_ the one with the demon blood?”

Sam frowned at the question, but no one was listening to them. Still, it seemed an odd thing to say. “Needy, why would you ask that?”

“Because he’s got to be at least half incubus. Holy moly, Sam!”

He couldn’t help smiling. “You enjoyed the show, then?”

“I’m not the only one. There’s not a dry pair of panties in this room! Sam, tell me you could feel that?”

Sam understood her. And he _had_ felt it, hadn’t he? Though evidently she had felt whatever it was more strongly than he. He saw Dean and Jennifer head toward the exit. “Heads up, Needy. We’ve got work to do.”

But as they headed out into the night, Needy’s comment stayed with him. _He’s got to be at least half incubus. _What exactly had Dean done? Some kind of spell? And how had he done it?


	6. Chapter 6

They’re locking up the sun, the light of reason’s gone  
And hope has been successfully undone.  
The question’s burning on, where is it coming from?  
No one seems to know the monster born.

Poets of the Fall, _Locking Up The Sun_

The touch of the succubus’ hand was warm, her body temperature naturally higher than was normal for a human. Of course, she wasn’t human at all. The heat of her fingers made Dean flinch away remembering Hell and lava-hot knives tearing into his flesh. He raised the glass to his lips, hoping the gesture would cover his reaction. Ice clinked against his teeth. He opened his mouth to take the ice inside, crunched it and swallowed.

“You wanna get out of here?” he suggested. He smiled at the succubus, willing her to go for it.

She smiled back, her lovely eyes never leaving his. “What do you have in mind?”

Dean slid one arm around her waist, caressing the bare skin of her back just above her belt. He didn’t flinch again, though her skin felt hot under his palm. He was in control now. “The same thing you do, sweetheart. Don’t be coy.” He leaned close and spoke softly into her ear. “I have in mind being naked with you until dawn.” He could smell the sulphur on her skin, as if he needed a fresh reminder of what she was.

The succubus leaned into his embrace. “Sounds good to me.”

Dean set down his empty glass and picked up the guitar case without letting go of her. He steered the succubus toward the exit.

He didn’t look for Sam again, but knew his brother was watching. Sam and Needy would follow at a safe distance, but the next part of the plan was up to Dean. So far, everything was going smoothly. Maybe too smoothly. When was the last time a hunt went this easy?

Outside the bar the air was cooler. There were a few kids hanging out in the street: teenagers gathered in a rough circle around a streetlight. One of them wolf-whistled as Dean and Jennifer passed them.

Dean turned to them quickly. “Hey! Show a little respect!” Girls were always impressed by a man willing to defend their honour.

But the succubus laughed. “Oh, it’s okay.” She took a step toward the gathered teenagers. She didn’t say a single word and Dean couldn’t see her face, but the closest boy – the wolf-whistler, Dean thought – reacted in fear, backing off so fast he crashed into one of the girls.

That didn’t fit her usual pattern of behaviour, not unless Needy had left out a few details. In Devil’s Kettle she’d tried to blend in, to appear human. Dean, worried this could escalate into a bloodbath, took her hand in his and tugged lightly, playing the eager lover.

“Let’s go, sweetheart,” he urged.

Instantly, she was back at his side. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m staying at the motel down the road,” Dean suggested.

She made a face. “Cheap motels are for hookers,” she complained. She laid her head on his shoulder as they walked. “Don’t you have a car?”

Dean hadn’t really expected she’d go for the motel room right off the bat. That would have been far too easy. “My car’s at the motel. Don’t you have a place?” Of course, he knew she didn’t live locally, but this was a familiar dance. He knew his role and all the steps. They would end up in the motel, or maybe breaking into an empty house. It didn’t really matter which. If he could talk her into going to his motel room she’d walk right into his devil’s trap. If they ended up somewhere else, he could use salt to trap her. Either way, the bitch was going back to the pit. Tonight.

There was just one problem with that plan. Sam was convinced the succubus had to die to set Needy free of her infection and blood-hunger. That meant no exorcism: they would have to use the knife to kill the demon. But Needy was convinced her friend was still alive inside this body. For some reason Dean couldn’t fathom, Sam had promised her they would try to save Jennifer’s life.

It wasn’t going to work. If Sam was right, either Jennifer or Needy had to die. It sucked, but there it was. In Dean’s mind, since a choice had to be made, it made sense to save the girl his brother was falling for. Even more so since Jennifer had very little chance of surviving an exorcism.

“Let’s go to the school!” Jennifer suggested excitedly.

“The school?”

“It’s not far and we can break into the gym. Make a bed out of all those mats.”

Dean laughed. If only she were human she’d be his perfect one-night-stand. “Sounds like fun,” he agreed.

She quickened her step, turning into the nearest alley. “This way!”

Dean followed her, wary now they were off the street. He disentangled his hand from hers and slid his arm around her waist again so they walked as if joined at the hip. He ran his hand down her side, lingering on her exposed skin before curving down over her hip and ass. She giggled and pressed her body closer to his. Dean squeezed her ass gently. Jennifer was warm and willing and for a moment he wished she were human. It would be good. A meaningless fuck. He could lose himself in her body. Pleasure. Rush. Sweat and sex. Physical.

Jennifer smiled and slowed her walk, forcing Dean to slow down as well. “What’s up?” he asked her.

Jennifer stopped walking and turned to face him. She looked up through her long lashes, smiling coyly. She reached up and ran her finger lightly down his face: beginning in the middle of his forehead, down to the tip of his nose and then pressing gently on his lips.

“I think we’re alone here,” she suggested, her voice rich as molasses.

Dean glanced back the way they’d come. “I think you’re right,” he agreed.

Jennifer dropped her hand to his chest, laying her palm over his heart. Then she shoved him, hard.

Dean actually heard the _crack_ as his rib broke. Before the pain hit him, he was airborne. His back slammed into the brick wall of the alley. The impact drove the breath from his body. The guitar case, still in his hand, slammed into the wall and Dean heard the discordant echo of music as the guitar reverberated with the shock. Instinctively, he swung the guitar case in front of his body just as the succubus flew at him.

She reached out with hands that had become claws. She smiled, revealing a mouth full of razor-sharp fangs any vampire would have envied. She crushed the guitar case against his lower body. Pain exploded in him and Dean bit back a scream.

He had forgotten what she was. Only for a moment, but that moment was enough. How could he be so stupid?

And where the Hell was Sam?

Dean couldn’t pull the knife he carried while he held the guitar, but absurdly, he didn’t want to let it go. Seeing no other option, he let go of the handle, freeing his hand to grope for Ruby’s knife. The guitar remained trapped between their bodies.

The succubus’ hands clamped on his shoulders. She was so strong! One moment he was up against the wall, the next she was pulling him toward her even as he grabbed for the knife.

“He told me I can’t kill you yet,” she hissed, her brimstone breath hot in his face, “but he never said I couldn’t have a taste.” She bared her fangs and Dean knew she would take a chunk out of his flesh.

Dean’s hand closed around the hilt of Ruby’s knife.

Then Sam was there – finally! – pulling the bitch off him. She screamed in frustration, slashing at Sam with her claws. Sam tossed holy water at her. She threw up her hands to protect her face.

Dean tried to go to his brother’s aid and stumbled over the fallen guitar case. Pain sliced through him again, but he needed to help Sam. Sam had the demon up against the opposite wall, one of his arms across her throat. She was struggling, though. Her seductive power might not work on Sam, like that white-light mojo other demons did wouldn’t work on him, but her physical strength sure would.

Sam needed to exorcise the bitch _now_!

But Dean didn’t want that. Not before she’d told him what she meant about orders. Even as the first words of Latin came from Sam’s lips, Dean shouted, “Sam, no!”

Sam turned to him, not releasing the demon. “What?”

“I got questions for her.”

But the instant of distraction was all the demon needed. She moved so fast Dean wasn’t sure what she’d done, but Sam yelled in surprise and pain and the next moment the succubus was gone.

Sam staggered and grabbed the alley wall for support. Dean moved to his side and took his arm to help him up.

“I’m…okay.” Sam panted, straightening. There was blood welling from a gash in his cheek. “You?”

Dean clutched at his chest, the fading adrenaline rush making him more aware of the pain. “Bitch broke my ribs, I think.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t rip your heart out! We’d better get you to the ER.”

Dean objected at once. “Are you nuts? With the mojo Cas carved into my bones? Too many questions, Sam.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sam glanced down at the bottle in his hand. It was empty. He shoved it into his jacket pocket. “Motel then. I’ll check you out.”

Dean didn’t argue. There were a few contacts Dean knew of who knew about their world and could be trusted not to ask too many questions when a hunter needed doctoring, but the closest was three states away. Sam was a fair medic; he would do. Dean straightened up and experimentally took a deep breath. He nodded once, indicating both that he was okay and that he would accept Sam’s help. Then he realised something was missing.

“Uh…Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Needy?”

*

Needy couldn’t figure out how Sam knew which way Dean and Jennifer had gone. He insisted on following at a safe distance, which made sense because they didn’t want the demon to know Dean wasn’t a defenceless snack. But Sam’s idea of a safe distance was so far back the couple they were following were almost out of sight in the darkness. If Sam had told her he was literally following a scent Needy might have believed it. She couldn’t see any better explanation.

The alley was even darker than the street. Needy slipped the backpack off her shoulder, intending to pull out the flashlight.

Sam stopped her. “No. She’ll see the light. Just stay close to me, okay?”

Needy re-sealed the backpack obediently, but she didn’t like this. There were too many places something nasty could be hiding: behind a dumpster, in the recessed doorway they just passed, around the curve of the wall. She felt like the hunted instead of a hunter.

“Can you feel her, Needy?” Sam asked quietly.

Needy could, and it creeped her the Hell out. “She’s hungry.” Jennifer was hungry and Dean was on her menu. Needy didn’t like Dean much, but she didn’t want him turned into – how did they describe Colin’s body? – “lasagne with teeth”. Ew and ick.

The change came so fast Needy wasn’t prepared. The hunger she felt became so much more, like she was hollowed out inside. She smelled the leather of Dean’s jacket and felt a surge of defiant joy. “Sam!” she gasped, horrified. “It’s now!”

He understood instantly. “Stick to the plan,” he snapped and took off at a run.

Needy prepared to follow. She leaned forward, her muscles tensing, ready to run.

A hand covered her mouth. Another hand grasped her shoulder. Needy drew in her breath to scream.

All the air disappeared.

So did the alley.

Her feet hit the ground with a bone-numbing impact as if she’d jumped from much too high. She felt her left ankle turn and automatically bent her knees to let her legs absorb the impact. She landed in a low crouch. If she really had jumped, it might have worked, but instead her foot slid out across the smooth ground and she felt the pain of joints trying to bend in a way that just didn’t work. She fell to her side, biting back a cry.

Adrenaline helped. She scrambled to her feet. One flailing hand found purchase in the darkness, her fingers closed around something solid and she steadied herself. She managed to stand straight with most of her weight on her right foot. Only then could she pay attention to where she was.

She was holding onto the horizontal bar of a gymnasium ladder set. The room she was in was very dark, but she could tell it was big, with windows high above her which let in a little light. Needy recognised it as a school gym because it looked so much like her old school in Devil’s Kettle. She had no idea how she got here. Or even where “here” was.

There was, however, a glowing green exit sign which had to be over a door. Needy took a step toward it. Until that instant, she had been certain she was alone. But the dark figure of a man blocked her way.

The bowie knife was in her hand before Needy consciously thought of it. She slashed at the man, going for his throat. She felt the knife slice through…something. But the man didn’t react at all. The next instant a powerful tug wrenched the weapon from her hand, tearing the hilt from her fingers. It hurt and the pain made her hesitate.

“Forgive me,” the man said. His voice was quiet, but rich, like an opera singer’s voice. It was a voice that inspired trust. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I had to get you away from them.”

Needy rubbed her aching fingers. This was the second time in two days she’d hurt this hand – the first when she nearly broke her knuckles on Sam’s jaw. She didn’t understand what was going on. She wished she could see properly but the room was too dark and her eyes hadn’t adjusted yet.

“Who are you?” she demanded, but she thought she already knew _what_ he was. Another demon.

“I’m someone who wants to help you,” he answered. He moved forward and the light from the window above shone onto his face. His features were handsome, but not exceptional: he was a white man with neatly-trimmed light hair. Needy couldn’t see colours because of the darkness, but she guessed his eyes were blue or grey. But it wasn’t his features that caught her attention. It was his expression. He gazed at her with eyes full of compassion. He looked so serious, almost…worried. It was hard to believe a demon could look like that.

“I don’t need help,” Needy answered, but somehow she didn’t sound as confident as she wanted to.

“You’ve been deceived. I can show you the truth.” He raised a hand as if to touch her.

Needy sprang back, but she’d forgotten her injured ankle. Pain shot up her left leg when she put her weight on it. Well, fuck. If she was gonna hurt, she might as well make it count. Needy transferred her weight to the other foot and spun, sweeping out her injured leg in a hard kick.

Like the knife, it connected.

Like the knife, it had no effect.

And it fucking hurt.

Needy fell.

He came toward her, not hurrying, and crouched near her even as she scrambled to get away. Then the words came into her mind, the Latin phrases Sam made her practice over and over. Without hesitation, she spoke the words aloud. “_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_…”

“I’m not a demon, child,” he said, still in that soft, soothing voice. Then his hand found hers. The moment his skin touched hers, the dark gymnasium vanished and Needy was lost in a vision.

_She saw Dean holding a gun to a woman’s head, his expression full of hatred. Needy could feel the woman’s terror. She cringed back against a white-painted door and there was a bullet hole in the wood beside her head. She closed her eyes, waiting for the bullet, never doubting it would come. But then Dean grasped her arm, roughly yanking her away from the door. For an instant, she saw a different kind of violence in his eyes…_

_Sam was in bed with a dark-haired woman. Needy felt his lust, and the woman’s. His hands gripped her body as they fucked; she would be bruised, but she wanted the pain, wanted him to mark her skin. Sam groaned her name, “Madison.”_

_Then the vision changed and Sam held a gun pointed at the woman’s chest. For a moment, Needy felt his resolve waver. But the woman wasn’t human. She was a monster. Sam pulled the trigger: a single bullet to her heart. Blowback spattered his face with blood and more…_

_An older man was chained, upright, his arms spread wide like Jesus on the cross. Needy saw Dean approach him with a knife. Dean moved slowly, studying the man’s body, careful to select a spot that would be painful, but not fatal. He thrust the knife into flesh. He looked into the man’s eyes as he did it, and Needy could feel his satisfaction when the man’s scream filled the air…_

_Sam opened the trunk of a car and dragged a woman out. She was screaming, struggling and begging him for her life. Oh, God, she was so scared! Sam forced her to her knees. He grabbed her by her hair, forcing her head to one side. There was so much rage pouring off him, Needy couldn’t make sense of it. Then he thrust a knife into the woman’s neck. Blood spurted into his face. He bent his head to the wound and Needy saw his throat working as he swallowed…_

Oh, God, no!

Needy had known what Sam was. She knew he was a killer. She’d seen the blood on his hands, but this…oh, this couldn’t be real.

But she knew that it was.

She knew something else, too. Sam told Needy she was the same thing he was. He made Needy drink his blood. Was this what he meant?

_Sam drank, greedy for blood. He paid no attention to the woman bleeding to death in his arms. Into his mouth. Needy saw her body go limp, felt the life draining from her, but Sam held her like she was just so much meat…_

Was he trying to turn Needy into that?

The vision went on relentlessly. Needy clung to the man’s hand because it was the only thing she could feel. She needed that, had to have that physical contact or her mind would spin off into the vision. She might never come back.

_Dean lay in a hospital bed, his eyes closed, his face badly bruised. He opened his eyes and looked at someone sitting near him. He whispered through dry and cracked lips, “I started all this. I broke the first seal.” …_

_Sam stood, squaring his jaw with something like defiance. “Lilith was the final seal. I killed her. I freed Lucifer. I started the apocalypse.” …_

_“What if you’re wrong, Sam?” Dean demanded._

_Sam glanced toward the window avoiding his brother’s eyes. He looked unhappy, but then his expression hardened. “If it doesn’t work…if Needy really does need to kill to go on, I will put her down myself.”_

Needy moaned wordlessly, not wanting to believe it of Sam. But somehow she knew this, too, was true. That less than an hour before he made love to her, Sam had declared he would kill her. And he meant it. Needy had known it wasn’t love when they were together; she knew too much, had been through too much, to have that kind of naïveté. But she thought Sam cared about her. How could he kiss her the way he had, how could he touch her, fly with her like that, and yet be willing to kill her?

“Monster,” she whispered aloud. She felt the hot tears fill her eyes and spill over, unstoppable.

“I am so sorry to cause you pain,” her captor said, and he sounded sincerely regretful. He drew his hand out of her vicelike grip, but he didn’t break the contact between them. Instead, he stroked her wrist and hand with gentle fingers. “I know they lied to you. I couldn’t leave you with them.”

She stared at him, though tears blurred her vision. “Who are you?” she asked, but then she realised that a name probably wouldn’t mean anything to her. She blinked hard and corrected herself. “I mean, _what_ are you?”

“I’m an angel,” he answered.

*

“She was right here!” Sam protested. He didn’t understand. Needy had been right at his side. She came into the alley with him. He had heard her footsteps behind him when he rushed ahead to save Dean.

Why wasn’t she here now?

Sam turned and ran back the way they had come. “Needy! Needy!”

He half expected to find her body lying somewhere in the alley, broken and bloody, but he reached the street and found no trace of her.

“Needy!” he called again.

“She’s gone.” Dean moved up to his side.

Sam turned to his brother, struggling to control his rising panic. They both knew what this meant. Needy wouldn’t have slipped away voluntarily. So she had been taken.

“Jennifer wasn’t working alone,” Dean said grimly, putting into words what they were both thinking.

Sam nodded. They thought they were setting a trap for the succubus. They were wrong. Jennifer was the bait. For them. A distraction, so some other demon could take Needy.

“But…why?” Sam asked helplessly. “What does Needy mean to them?”

“Oh, let’s think.” Dean’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“What?” Sam demanded.

Dean gave him a scathing look. “She’s got demon blood and psychic powers. She likes a good bloody slaughter. What use could she _possibly_ have to the other side? Huh?”

Dean’s words stopped Sam cold. He grasped instantly what Dean meant. Hadn’t he said himself that he thought Needy was like him? There was a long history of demons using humans who had just a little demon in them. The yellow-eyed demon used Jake to open the devil’s gate in Wyoming. Then there was Sam himself, manipulated by Ruby and Lilith into jump-starting the apocalypse and setting the Devil loose.

But…the apocalypse was already in-progress. What could Needy do for them now? Could things possibly get any worse?

Sam knew the answer to that. Every time he thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.

“We’ve got to find her!” Sam turned back toward the alley. But he already knew she wasn’t there.

“It’ll be faster if we go back for the car,” Dean suggested. Sam noticed that, for some reason, he was still carrying the guitar.

Sam wasn’t sure going back for the Impala would be faster – after all, he had no idea where to start looking. But the Impala contained their arsenal and Sam knew they would need that. “Let’s go,” he said.

Sam walked quickly down the street, lengthening his stride until he was nearly running. Dean kept pace with him, of course. He always did. Neither of them spoke, which left Sam’s mind free to focus on Needy. What could the demons want with her? Was Needy, like him, a victim of some huge demonic conspiracy? Perhaps another of Azazel’s special children? All Sam knew was what the yellow-eyed demon told him in Cold Oak: that there were other generations. Or perhaps it was only the succubus bite that gave Needy her demonic powers, but she _had_ been psychic before that. Either way, Needy was special.

She was special to Sam, too. He should have taken better care of her. Where had the demons taken her? Was she even alive?

Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and held it to his ear. “Cas, this isn’t a good time,” he snapped. Dean glanced at Sam as he spoke, but neither of them slowed their pace.

Sam let Dean see his impatience but said nothing. He couldn’t hear Castiel’s side of the conversation.

“Providence, Minnesota,” Dean said curtly, then after a short silence. “We’re on our way back to the motel. There’s only one. But whatever it is can wait, Cas. I’ve – ” he broke off and for an instant Sam saw fear cross his brother’s face. Without another word, he flipped the phone closed and pocketed it.

“Angels need cell phones now?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. He’ll be at the motel.”

Sam broke into a run.

*

Castiel was waiting for them outside Dean’s room. He stood there, statue-still, until they reached the room.

“Sam,” he greeted Sam in his usual neutral tone, betraying no surprise at seeing him with Dean.

Sam nodded back. “Castiel.”

Castiel turned to Dean, but didn’t speak. A flicker of his eyes toward the door sent a silent message: he wanted to talk to Dean alone.

Dean threw the Impala’s keys to Sam. “I left some things in my room. Be with you in a minute.”

Sam caught the keys. “Want me to take that, too?” he asked, indicating the guitar case.

Dean handed it over and headed into his room. Castiel followed him. The moment they were both inside Dean slammed the door. “We’re in the middle of a hunt, Cas, and there’s a girl missing. So talk fast.”

Castiel did not start talking. He regarded Dean silently for a long moment. It was something Dean was accustomed to, but right now he didn’t have time for the angel’s quirks.

“Cas! Clock’s ticking!”

The blue eyes narrowed. “Do you trust me, Dean?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“If you trust me, you and Sam will leave this town. Now.”

Dean stared. Castiel met his surprised gaze unwaveringly. He was serious. Of course he was; Cas didn’t joke.

Dean shook his head. “I can’t. Sam won’t leave until we at least look for – ”

“The girl,” Castiel interrupted, “is insignificant. You and Sam must leave, for everyone’s sake.”

Uh-huh. All Cas told him on the phone was that the town was in peril. “Why?” Dean asked. “Horsemen?”

“No.”

“Demons? Rain of fire?”

“Nothing so mundane.”

“Then _what_?” Dean demanded, raising his voice. Castiel’s characteristic reticence was frustrating as Hell. When Castiel didn’t answer at once, Dean shrugged. “You know what? Screw it. Trust goes two ways, Cas. If you can’t explain why we should leave, I’m not going anywhere.”

Castiel sighed. “The girl you seek is at Providence High School. Lucifer is with her.”

Oh…crap.

For a moment, the name robbed Dean of any possible argument. He thought for a moment. He thought about Needy, and Sam, and whatever was between them. “Well, we – ” he began.

“You need to take your brother,” Castiel said, in a voice that brooked no disagreement, “and get him as far from here as you can go. _Do not_ allow him anywhere near that school.”

Dean took a deep breath. He got it. Sam was supposed to be Lucifer’s vessel. It would be seriously catastrophic if they got together. Not that Sam was gonna say yes or anything, but still, why give the Devil a chance?

But there was still a not-quite-innocent girl to think of. “If we go,” Dean asked, “what’s going to happen to Needy?”

Castiel closed his eyes briefly. “It’s likely she is already lost.”

“What does that mean? What does Lucifer want with her?”

“Fallen or not, he is an archangel. I cannot see into his mind.”

Dean let his breath out in a disgusted sound. “That’s angel-speak for ‘no freaking clue’, right, Cas?”

Castiel’s silence answered him.

_Then I’m sorry, Cas. I can’t do this. _“I’ll keep Sam away, of course I will, but I can’t abandon Needy. I won’t.” He headed for the door, cutting off any further debate. Cas could draw any conclusion he liked about Dean’s motivations. Dean didn’t want to save Needy for any heroic reason. He would save her for Sam’s sake.

“Dean,” Castiel called after him.

Dean looked back over his shoulder. There was only one way he was going to do what Cas wanted, but he couldn’t ask it. He didn’t know how much juice Cas still had, but he knew it wasn’t enough to gank Lucifer. He couldn’t ask…but he could lead.

“Can _you_ step up, Cas? Because you’re right, we’ve got to keep Sam away from the Devil, but the only way that’s happening is if we go instead. You and me.”

“_You_ cannot face Lucifer. He will kill you, because you are Michael’s vessel.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Dean insisted. And he would, for Sam.

“If you will leave, _I_ will go after the girl.” Castiel’s voice was flat and emotionless, but Dean understood what the offer meant. He knew Cas would be risking his life. He felt a little guilty for pushing him into it. 

“Tell me you will leave,” Castiel pressed.

Dean nodded. “Alright. We’ll leave.”


	7. Chapter 7

I crawl underground for comfort  
Stay out of my mind to keep from dying  
From dying  
Sold my life to bring the rain  
(Maybe to wash me clean)  
Sold my soul to stop the pain  
(Hoping you’d set me free)

The Used, _Sold My Soul_

_She could see the waning moon through the trees above the waterfall: almost a perfect semi-circle. But Jennifer cared nothing for the beauty of the night scene. She was much too scared. Her shoe caught on something and she screamed involuntarily as she fell. Shouldn’t have worn high heels._

_Nicolai grasped the back of her coat and hauled her up. The coat tightened painfully beneath her breasts. He clapped a hand on her shoulder before she regained her balance. “Don’t do that again,” he snapped._

_Jennifer shot him a resentful look, but she was too frightened to talk back at him. She was so scared, she thought she just might piss herself and wouldn’t that just make this little outing perfect? When they dragged her out of the van she thought there might be a way to escape from these sickos, but what might be out there in the darkness seemed even worse than staying where she was._

_Whatever they forced her to drink – she did remember Nicolai tipping the contents of a glass into her mouth – was still fogging her mind, but she understood one thing clearly. They were going to rape her. She thought maybe that might be okay. In the sense that rape was something she could survive. They couldn’t break her._

_So, although she fought when they tried to tie her down, fought hard enough to rip a couple of her nails on one guy’s face, she wasn’t fully focussed on what was happening with them. Not until Nicolai said something about the moon did it filter though her drugged mind that maybe this wasn’t what she thought._

_The drummer-guy said something about a cool murder weapon and Jennifer saw the blade of the bowie knife in Nicolai’s hand, gleaming silver in the moonlight._

_Jennifer tried to scream past the knotted cloth in her mouth._

_The rest was a blur of terror. The men circling around her. The sound of the waterfall. Pain in her wrists as she struggled against the ropes binding her._

_At one point, Nicolai pulled the gag out of her mouth. “What’s your name? Tiffany or something?”_

_She was so frightened by then she just answered him. “My name is Jennifer.” She saw the glint of moonlight on his teeth when he smiled._

_“You know what? Maybe we’ll write a song about you. I think – as a fan – that’d be cool, right?”_

_A fan? God, as if she could be a fan after this! She was begging, hardly aware of what she was saying, just please don’t do this, please, please…_

_Then the knife flashed down._

“No! Noooo!” Needy screamed with Jennifer. She screwed her eyes shut as if that could banish the vision. She clawed at the sides of her head, anything, just make it stop, God, please!

But the vision wouldn’t let her go. She was forced to see all of it. She felt all of it as Jennifer had – the fear and confusion and pain. Too much pain. She couldn’t bear it.

Then the scene in her mind blurred, or switched or…something. Needy was still there, but the pain and terror were gone. When she realised what that meant, she wanted to throw up. What Jennifer had been feeling was gone…because Jennifer was dead.

“No,” his voice assured her, calm and quite certain. “She was only unconscious and no longer in pain.”

_The knots in the ropes binding Jennifer’s body unravelled of their own accord. Not one of the men noticed._

_Nicolai, his face spattered with Jennifer’s blood, stood over the whirlpool, watching the white foam swirl for a moment. He raised the bloody knife over his head and flung it into the water. It flashed once and vanished into the devil’s kettle._

_“Well,” a woman’s voice cut through the darkness, “you boys certainly picked an interesting way to get my attention.”_

_The five men whirled to face her. The voice was coming from Jennifer’s body. She was standing, her clothing soaked in blood and gore, ropes dangling from her wrists. It was Jennifer’s body, but Jennifer certainly wasn’t driving. The voice wasn’t hers and her eyes…her eyes glowed scarlet._

_She raised her hands above her head and stretched, a gesture that exposed parts of her body inside the open wounds across her abdomen. She laughed. “I do so enjoy a human sacrifice. It’s like the frosting on the cupcake. The olive in the martini.”_

_The men watched her, frozen in place. Needy felt fear from them now. She wondered if they’d really believed their little ritual would work. And that made her even more angry: did they murder her friend thinking it would be for nothing?_

_The red-eyed demon looked at each of the men in turn before fixing those livid eyes on Nicolai. “So, you called. I came. What can I do for you boys?”_

_Nicolai looked like he really needed some toilet paper. “Are…are you S-satan?” He stammered the words, and right away seemed to wish he hadn’t spoken._

_The thing in Jennifer’s body giggled. “No, baby. I’m just…the sales rep. Yes, I like that. So tell me what you need and we’ll make a deal.” She was moving closer to Nicolai as she spoke. She reached out to caress his face, smearing blood down his cheek. “What’ll it be, handsome? Fame? Wealth?” She looked up through Jennifer’s long lashes. “Women?”_

_He seemed to gather himself, finding a backbone from somewhere. “All that,” he answered._

_She tutted softly. “Greedy, greedy.”_

_“We want success,” he blurted out. “We wanna be the biggest indie band since Maroon 5.”_

_When she smiled, they could all see the blood on her teeth. “Success for your little band. Is that all?”_

_Nicolai nodded._

_She looked at each of the others. “And this is a group desire?”_

_Each of them looked at Nicolai before they answered. Each of them answered in the affirmative._

_“Do you all understand the price?”_

_Nicolai made an awkward gesture toward her. “We sacrificed her – _”

_“That’s just how you knock on the door, baby.” Her voice was harsh. “If you want the door to open, the price is a little more…personal.” She took Nicolai’s chin in her hand, tilting his head to one side as if she planned to kiss him. But when she leaned in, she hissed into his ear, “Your soul.”_

_He jerked back as if burned, but then he laughed. “Well, sure. It’s not like I’m using it.”_

_The demon laughed delightedly. “So very true.” She turned away, pushing something back into Jennifer’s torn stomach, and paused as if considering. “Now, the terms,” she mused aloud. “Indie bands do come and go rather rapidly, don’t they? You boys will want time to enjoy your success, so…hm.” She looked back to Nicolai. “Shall we say ten years?”_

_He looked taken aback. “Uh…yeah,” he mumbled. Then he began to smile and Needy, watching in her vision, knew he was thinking of all the decadence he could enjoy in ten years of fame and fortune. Bastard. “Ten years,” he confirmed. “Sounds good.”_

_One of the others – the drummer, Needy remembered – spoke up. “Uh, are we supposed to, like, sign in blood? ’Cause I don’t think – _”

_“Oh, no, baby. That’s so last millennium. This century, we seal it with a kiss.”_

_Which was exactly what they did. Needy wasn’t sure who was more revolted by the whole process: those men, forced to smooch the bloody body they so recently turned into chum; or Needy herself, watching them maul Jennifer’s body. Her broken, unconscious body. When the demon had sealed the contract with each of them, the men simply stood there, as if they couldn’t figure out what would happen next._

_“Just one more thing, boys,” the demon said as she stepped back. “You need to pick your sacrifices more carefully.” She ran her hands down Jennifer’s body, a gesture that might have been seductive in lingerie, but was pretty damn gross with her looking like a zombie carnage victim. “This body,” she explained, “is no virgin. I suggest you start running, because when she wakes up, she’s going to be very, very hungry.”_

_The five men stared at her._

_She made a cute little “shoo!” gesture with her fingers. “Go ahead. Run!”_

_They fled, and the last thing Needy heard as the vision finally released her was Low Shoulder crashing through the trees like a panicked herd of elephants._

Needy came to herself and her gorge rose immediately. She turned to one side and threw up. She threw up for a long time.

The angel simply watched her.

*

Eventually, Needy’s retching stopped. She wiped her mouth and left a long smear of lipstick on the back of her hand. She remembered the holy water in her backpack. She squirmed to get it off her back and ripped the strap. Her hands were shaking – the aftermath of tossing her cookies like that, she hoped – but she managed to get it open and pull out a bottle. She rinsed out her mouth, spitting the water out onto the floor since she’d already made a mess and then took a drink.

So now she knew the truth of what happened to Jennifer that night at the falls. Jennifer had told her some of it, but not everything. Oh, not nearly everything. And now that Needy knew, she felt as empty as her stomach. She had nothing left.

Everyone she loved was gone. Her mom, who had always been her first defender, thought she was a lunatic killer. Jennifer was dead because Needy lied about her to a bunch of deranged Devil-worshippers. Chip was dead because she hadn’t moved fast enough to save him. Sam, who seemed like he was trying to help her, was a psycho.

She couldn’t go home, and she had nowhere else to go.

She had no one she could trust. Sam’s story suggested she couldn’t even trust an angel, but Sam could have lied about that as well. She had been alone in Devil’s Kettle, too. Not even Chip believed her, but she’d still managed to do what had to be done.

Except she’d waited too long, and Chip paid the price. Except she screwed up, because Jennifer was dead. She _never_ wanted Jennifer dead; she only wanted the demon dead. She just didn’t understand the difference. Now Jennifer – or the thing walking around in her skin – was back and killing again.

And there was her own problem, too. Needy was carrying around some freaktarded demonic infection. The killing hadn’t stopped. Instead, Needy had become the killer.

She tried to run a hand through her hair and discovered the black wig, askew on her head. Angrily she wrenched it off and threw it. Her blonde hair was pinned up beneath the wig. She pulled at the pins and worked her fingers through the tangles until it felt a bit more like her own hair. She probably looked as much a wreck as she felt.

The angel still stood there. He was no comfort, damn him. There was compassion in his words, but he seemed distant, or…aloof. Yes, that was the word. It was as if his mind was somewhere high above hers…which kinda made sense for an angel, but she still resented it. Why did he have to show her all that stuff? She’d been doing fine!

Needy looked up at him, aware that he was waiting for…something. She had a sense that he wanted something from her, but she couldn’t imagine what she could possibly do for an _angel_. She was just a kid who hadn’t even graduated from high school. She wasn’t Buffy. She wasn’t even the Pink Power Ranger. She was just…just Needy. What could an angel want with her?

She remembered all those letters she received when she was in Leech Lake. Creepy letters from creepier guys who had seen her picture in the news and thought having some kind of a relationship with an insane, jailbait murderess would be fulfilling. Hate mail, most of it from strangers. And then there were the kindly-meant letters, from people who said they were praying for her. Some of them sent kitsch images of Jesus and urged her to accept Christ into her heart. Needy’s mom still went to Mass every week and she’d raised her little girl right. Though she was as enthusiastic about church as the average seventeen year old girl intent on enjoying her youth, Needy considered herself a believer. She was willing enough to accept Jesus into her heart, but he didn’t seem to want in. Alone in her cell, she said the prayers aloud, but they were just words and after a while the words themselves lost all meaning. Prayer couldn’t undo her mistakes, couldn’t bring back Chip or Jennifer. She could say the words, she could even mean them, but she felt nothing at all. Jesus just wasn’t there.

But, apparently, an angel was.

*

The Impala’s engine roared as they passed the _Welcome to Providence_ sign on their way out of town. The radio was on, playing some phone-in request show. Sam sat sullenly, gazing out of the window. Now they were out of town, it was so dark out there all he could see was his own reflection in the glass.

“Cas will find her,” Dean said grimly. He was no happier about this than his brother.

“Cas can’t fight Lucifer,” Sam replied.

“Well, neither can we,” Dean snapped, “and you know it. Cas has a chance.”

Sam couldn’t really argue, so lapsed back into sullen silence. He felt like a coward, abandoning Needy to her fate like this. He knew all the arguments. This was bigger than one person. It was literally about the fate of the entire world. Lucifer already _had_ Needy: Sam and Dean couldn’t fight the Devil, so any rescue mission would be plain suicide. Worse than suicide, because this wasn’t just about _them_. Castiel had a chance. Not a good one, but a chance, nonetheless.

They were going to meet Castiel in Milwaukee: it was the furthest destination Sam would agree to. If Cas didn’t show, they would know something was very wrong. If Cas showed up without Needy…Sam was going to kick the shit out of him.

“Dean, why are we under the speed limit?”

“Because this road is inches deep in mud,” Dean answered as the wheels slipped again, illustrating his words.

As soon as they reached good road, Dean flipped the radio onto a new channel and floored the gas.

*

“Do you not want your friend to live?” the angel asked her.

Hot tears cut tracks in Needy’s thick makeup, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She swallowed, hard, hoping she could hide how scared she was. She turned to the angel, steeling herself to meet his eyes.

“You’re Lucifer, aren’t you?” she demanded, pleased that her voice came out strong and confident, even though she felt neither of those things.

He didn’t flinch. “Yes, I am.”

Needy took a deep breath. “You’re right. I want her alive. But…” _please don’t kill me for this_ “…I want one more thing before I agree.”

The tiniest smile touched his lips before he nodded seriously. “What more can I offer you?”

_Please, please, please…_ Needy swallowed back her terror, cleared her throat, and told him what she wanted.

Lucifer smiled and somehow the smile was the most terrifying thing Needy had seen yet.

“I knew you were the one. Very clever, Needy. I agree.”

Needy let out her breath. “Okay. I guess we have a deal.”

“Don’t guess. You have to say it clearly. Yes or no?”

_No,_ Needy wanted to say, but it was too late for that. She had no choice. “Yes,” she said.

*

Only when he was certain the Winchester boys were out of harm’s way did Castiel fly to the school. He was uncertain whether his presence would benefit the girl. It was possible, should Lucifer become aware of his presence, he might make her situation worse. He would do what he was able to do, because he had promised Dean he would try.

When he reached the school, he knew he was too late. The high windows of the building filled with blinding light as Castiel watched. No human could have gone near there. Castiel walked toward the building, alert for any hint that his presence was noticed. There was a taint in the air that suggested a demonic presence, but Castiel sensed no demons outside. A demon – perhaps more than one – had been here, but was no longer in the vicinity unless it was inside.

He reached the door but did not open it. Instead, he walked around to one side. Above him, angelic light still shone from the windows. Castiel laid one hand on the bricks, cautiously extending his awareness into the building.

Immediately, he understood the source of the light. Cut off from Heaven, Castiel’s abilities were…limited. The same should have been true of Lucifer, though as an archangel he would never have been as limited as Castiel. However, Lucifer found an alternative source of power: Hell itself. With that as his source, he could retain almost all the powers of an archangel, but the exercise of those powers was very different.

Castiel felt death. He concentrated, risking discovery to find out exactly what Lucifer was doing. What he found made no sense. The death he felt was not the girl’s death. It was a demon’s death. Castiel was not concerned with Lucifer’s motivation, but it did make him curious. Why would Lucifer kill a demon?

The surge of power faded and Castiel withdrew. He heard a girl’s voice, pain and distress. A moment later Lucifer was gone. All that remained was the girl, crying in pain. Castiel felt relief: at least she was alive.

With Lucifer gone, Castiel felt it was safe for him to approach. He moved quickly around to the front of the gym and scanned for demons – there were none – before pushing the door open.

Within, he found two girls. The dark haired girl, he realised quickly, had been possessed. The demon was gone from her now; but it left the body as so much scorched earth. The girl was dying. Castiel no longer had the ability to heal, or he might have helped her. Still, the dark-haired girl was not his concern. He had promised Dean only that he would attempt to save the other.

Although, Castiel mused, it was possible Dean would consider their agreement covered both girls. He had a disconcerting tendency to expect more of Castiel than he had specified. Would that peculiar habit apply to this particular situation? Castiel had to consider it carefully, because he could not afford to lose Dean’s trust.

While he examined all the angles of that dilemma, Castiel turned his attention to the other girl, the one he had come for. He was immediately aware of her distress: Needy’s breathing was erratic and her pulse was elevated. She bent over the other girl’s body. It seemed she was attempting to speak, but no coherent words came out. Needy was not injured, but her extreme distress was damaging her body.

She appeared to be oblivious to Castiel’s presence in the room, which gave him time to consider the situation. Why had Lucifer left her unharmed? That was not consistent with his previous actions. It was…worrying. Castiel saw nothing unusual about the girl. She appeared to be a normal human being and there was nothing to indicate why Lucifer had an interest in her. Nothing, that was, except her proximity to Sam Winchester.

“Who the fuck are you?” Needy demanded. She probably intended her tone to be belligerent but her tears ruined the effect.

Castiel knew he had been standing there watching her for too long, even by human standards. It was a hazard of having spent more than a thousand years doing nothing but watch. He was also taking too long to answer her question, but there was no succinct answer he could give her.

“Don’t just stand there!” she yelled at him. “Call 911!”

Castiel started to reach for his cell phone, but then he concluded that Dean would expect much more of him than this so-human response. His choice made, Castiel strode across the floor to where the girls lay. He bent down to touch them both and transported them all out of there.

*

Five minutes after the Impala crossed the state line into Wisconsin, Dean’s phone finally rang again. Sam, who had been slumped against the window, not sleeping, but perhaps working on it, came alert at the first notes of Dean’s ringtone.

Dean answered the call quickly. “Yeah? Cas?”

Castiel’s voice was as neutral as always. “I am in Milwaukee,” he reported.

“Are you okay? And Needy?”

“I am…” Castiel hesitated and Dean tensed, “…okay. The girl is…” again, there was a brief hesitation, “…unhurt. Her friend is…not.”

Her friend? What friend? “Holy crap, you mean _Jennifer_?”

“Dean, what?” Sam demanded urgently.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “Jennifer. The demon is gone, but it left her…damaged.”

“Right.” Dean knew how that went. “Where are you exactly?”

“St Jerome’s hospital, near the port.”

“We’re still a few hours drive away,” Dean said. He could shave a little off that time, but even at the Impala’s best speed they wouldn’t be there much before dawn.

“I will wait,” Castiel answered. “Be careful when you reach here, Dean. I believe you and Sam may be…expected.”

“Wonderful,” Dean said sarcastically. “See you in a few hours.” He flipped his phone closed and turned to Sam. “He says Needy’s fine.”

Sam let out his breath in a huge sigh. “Thank God.”

“Thank Cas,” Dean corrected. “The demon is out of Jennifer – he didn’t say how – and I guess she’s hurt. Cas zapped them both to a hospital.”

Sam nodded. “She was a victim of human sacrifice. I doubt there’s much the hospital can do for her.”

“Cas didn’t say.” Although Castiel’s silence on the subject spoke volumes, Dean thought. Jennifer hadn’t just been sliced-and-diced by those sons-of-bitches, she’d been dead. She’d been buried. There was something odd about her being alive at all, with no demon animating her body.

“If Needy still has her backpack she’s got a few hundred dollars and a fake ID,” Sam mused aloud. “It won’t be enough for serious hospital bills and she’ll be in real trouble if they make an ID.”

“Geez, Sam!”

“What?”

“We’re running from _Lucifer_ and you’re worried about health insurance?”

Sam forced a smile. “I guess I’m just worried about Needy. How did Castiel get her away from Lucifer?”

“He didn’t say.”

“You don’t find that odd?”

Dean snorted with laughter. “Dude, it’s Cas. Everything he does is odd.”

“Oh. Right.”

Dean floored the gas and the Impala sped on into the night.

*

Needy leapt to her feet every time she saw a doctor coming toward her, but none of them spoke to her. All she knew was that Jennifer was in surgery.

She had other problems to occupy her mind while she waited. She had used the fake driver’s license Sam made for her to prove her identity as “Anita Blake”, but she didn’t want to risk giving a fake name for Jennifer, because she knew it was one of the first questions a doctor would ask her when she regained consciousness. She’d registered her as Jennifer Check, but spelled the last name C-Z-E-C-H, hoping that would be enough to hide who she was. No one had asked her about insurance yet.

But they had asked her about Jennifer’s injuries. Needy claimed she’d found Jennifer unconscious and didn’t know what happened, but it looked like she’d fallen down the stairs. She knew they didn’t believe her. She was sure they had called the cops, but so far she hadn’t seen any sign of police.

It felt like hours before a man in green scrubs finally approached her. “Miss…Blake?”

Needy leapt up nervously. “Is Jennifer okay?”

“She’s been moved to recovery. We were able to repair the damage to her heart, which was the most serious – ”

Needy interrupted him, shaking her head. “It’s been a horrible day, Doctor. Right now I can’t take in anything more complicated than yes or no. Please just tell me if she’ll be alright.”

“She’s stable. We’ll know more when she wakes up.”

“Can I see her?”

“She’s going to be sleeping for a while, but you can look in on her if you like. I’ll ask one of the nurses to show you the way.”

Jennifer looked _terrible_. She lay there wearing only the hospital-issue gown. Wires ran from pads on her chest to a machine which showed her heartbeat; Needy recognised the display from TV but the machine wasn’t beeping like they did on _General Hospital_. Maybe they turned the sound down at night. There was another machine which was breathing for her: an ugly plastic tube disappeared into her mouth. There was a drip in her arm, too, giving her blood, not that clear liquid Needy always saw in the TV shows. That worried her, but she didn’t know what it meant. Jennifer’s skin was deathly pale, but the thin flesh around her eyes was dark, as if she had two black eyes.

Needy couldn’t bear to see the friend she loved like this. But neither could she leave Jennifer’s side. Jennifer had to live! If she died, this was all for nothing.

Although she expected the nurse to throw her out any moment, Needy lifted a chair and carried it over to the bed. She sat down, taking Jennifer’s hand in hers. Her skin felt dry and fragile, like someone very old, but it was warm, too. Jennifer was always so alive, so vital. This wasn’t right.

Needy laid her forehead on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. She considered praying, but who should she pray to?

Castiel’s shadow fell across her from the doorway. Needy had no idea what to make of him. He had a weird name and he obviously wasn’t human, but he looked like a lawyer or an accountant. She hadn’t dared to ask him what he was. She didn’t even know what side he was on. But he seemed kind, and he had helped by bringing them to the ER. That was good enough for now.

When Needy did nothing but stare at him, Castiel entered the room. He stood at the bottom of the bed, like a doctor, regarding Jennifer silently for a moment. “She will recover, physically,” he said eventually.

“Physically?”

“She may remember. She may not.”

Needy swallowed. She didn’t want Jennifer to remember the horrible things the demon had done. “What about…me?” she asked.

Castiel turned those impossibly blue eyes to her, saying nothing at all. But Needy understood what the look meant. He knew what she had done.

“Dean and Sam are on their way – ” Castiel began.

“What? No!” Needy was on her feet. The chair fell with a crash. Needy ignored it, her eyes searching for an escape as if they were already in the room. “Why would you – ”

Castiel was across the room in three swift strides. He took her by the shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. “No, Needy, no. The Winchesters are good men and Sam cares for you. You should not fear them.”

Needy returned his gaze and could see only truth in his eyes. But her visions had been true, she was certain. How could what she saw, and Castiel’s words both be true?

Castiel moved even closer to her. He didn’t hug her, not exactly, but she felt his hand rest briefly on her hair. “Ssh, Needy.” His voice was quietly hypnotic. “Don’t think about it now.”

“But… But I…” Needy’s voice trailed off. It was hard to think. What was she saying?

“It’s time to rest,” Castiel suggested. “You are safe in this room, and I will see that no one disturbs you tonight.”

She smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

As Castiel closed the door behind him, Needy righted her chair and moved it even closer to the bed. She sat down and, in mere moments, she was asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

For love at once my shield and terror  
Destination and cause for living today  
And wanting to die tomorrow  
Why is my whole life spent chasing my demise?

Human Drama, _This Tangled Web_

It was early morning when they finally reached St Jerome’s hospital. Dean could see Castiel waiting outside as he turned his car into the parking lot. It took a while to find a space long enough to accommodate the Impala. Beside Dean, Sam was almost ready to jump out of the car while it was still moving. If Dean had any doubts about his brother’s feelings for Needy, Sam’s impatience would have settled them.

“Sam, slow down,” Dean ordered as he shut off the engine. “Cas said there might be demons around, remember?”

“I’m ready,” Sam answered. He patted his jacket pocket and climbed out of the car.

Dean assumed the gesture meant Sam had salt or holy water, but he still grabbed his own bag from the back seat. He reached across to the glove compartment and rifled through his collection of fake IDs. He found his FBI badge and pocketed it, then pulled a tie out of the bag and hung it around his neck. He hurried to catch up with Sam, tying the tie as he walked.

“Where’s Needy?” Sam demanded the moment he reached Castiel.

“She is safe with her friend. I placed sigils around the room so nothing can harm them there.”

“Is she okay?”

Castiel hesitated, looking at Dean. “I think you should see for yourselves. But I must warn you, Lucifer has made her afraid of you both. I don’t know if he told her truth or lies.”

Dean didn’t like that look. Castiel was holding something back.

“Whatever he told her, I need to see she’s okay,” Sam insisted.

“I’ll take you to them,” Castiel agreed.

Cas already told them that Needy was unharmed; perhaps that was all that mattered. But Dean knew there was more. Something Cas didn’t want to say in front of Sam.

The three of them were alone in the elevator, so Dean took the opportunity to ask more questions. “Have the police got involved yet?”

“I believe they have been called,” Castiel answered.

“Great.” Dean glanced into the mirror. Driving all night left him looking wiped out, which was bad, but it was his clothing that was the real problem. He wasn’t wearing a suit, and the tie he’d chosen so hurriedly didn’t go well with the shirt. “Cas, switch coats with me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a lousy liar and I’m not. Now, Cas!”

Dean was still hurrying into the coat when the elevator doors opened. Castiel’s trench coat was a little narrow through the shoulders, but Dean could wear it. At least this way no one would laugh out loud when he claimed to be a Fed.

Cas didn’t put on Dean’s leather jacket, but simply carried it over his arm. He led them from the elevator past the nurses’ station. The nurse on duty nodded to Castiel as they passed, evidently accustomed to his presence.

Castiel stopped outside Jennifer’s room and Sam gave Dean a single worried glance before he headed inside.

Some time before they arrived, Jennifer had woken up long enough for a doctor to remove the breathing tube and assure Needy she was recovering well. When Sam and Dean walked into the room, Jennifer was propped up on her pillows, awake and listening to Needy, who was clutching Jennifer’s hand as if she couldn’t bear to let go. Jennifer seemed very weak and very tired. But she looked pretty damn good for a corpse, which was what she should have been. Once the demon was gone, Jennifer’s body should have gone back to being several weeks dead.

Needy looked up as they entered. Dean thought she looked pretty awful herself. She had washed that awful Goth makeup off her face and combed her hair, but she was very pale. There was a haunted look in her eyes…and Dean felt his stomach turn into lead as he realised he was looking into a mirror.

Fury flashed through him: Castiel must have known. He should have given Dean some warning! Dean could have found a way to keep Sam out of here if he’d known.

Sam moved toward Needy ahead of Dean, but he stopped when she looked up.

“Needy, are you okay?” Sam sounded wary.

She nodded, turning her gaze to Jennifer, whose eyes were closed again. “I will be,” she answered uncertainly.

No, she wouldn’t be okay. Dean moved forward. Better to get all the cards on the table, he decided.

“Don’t lie to us, Needy.” Dean made his voice harsh. He went on before she could draw breath to protest. “Why don’t you tell us what this cost?”

Her eyes widened in shock, but she recovered quickly. “What are you – ”

“How long?” Dean interrupted bluntly. Although, he realised, he might be wrong about the price…

Sam stiffened as Dean’s words got through to him. Dean laid a hand on Sam’s back, just a brief touch. A signal.

Needy stared at Dean. “How did you know?” she whispered.

Dean shrugged. “Takes one to know one, I guess. How _long_, Needy? Ten years?”

She nodded.

Dean watched her for a moment longer. Anger flared again when he thought of what this might do to Sam. How could she? “Make the most of them, kid. It ain’t worth it, believe me.” Deliberately, he turned his back on her. “Come on, Sam. We can’t help her now.” He walked out, not waiting to see if Sam would follow.

Castiel hurriedly moved out of his way.

“Cas.” Dean spoke curtly, not about to let the angel get away with that. Outside the room, Dean rounded on Castiel. If they weren’t in a public place, he would have thrown a punch. “You knew she made a deal. You must have known!”

Castiel answered calmly. “I suspected. I did not know for sure until now.”

“You should have told us!” _Should have told me._

“Dean,” Castiel said patiently, “I don’t understand human emotions. I believed it was better for you to see for yourselves.”

Dean swore. He looked into Castiel’s eyes, wondering how this got so fucked up. “Cas, do you remember what happened the last time someone Sam loves sold his soul?”

He saw genuine concern in Castiel’s eyes. “I do. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“A little heads-up, Cas. Next time.” Dean’s anger faded now he knew Cas got it. But that didn’t solve the problem.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice came from the doorway. “Do you really think I haven’t learned my lesson?”

“I don’t know, Sam. Have you?”

Castiel interrupted before Sam could respond. “If Needy truly sold her soul to Lucifer, he can use her to find you. You should leave immediately.”

That sounded like a good idea to Dean. But Sam instantly turned stubborn.

“You both go, if you want to. I can’t.” He looked at Dean, pleading. “I’ve got to talk to her.”

Dean wanted to punch him. He wouldn’t wish Needy’s fate on anyone but it was too late to help her. A deal is a deal. Sam _knew_ that!

“I know,” Sam seemed to answer his thought. “But she’s got ten years, Dean. I don’t want her spending them in prison, and if the cops figure out who she is…”

Dean sighed and looked past him into the room. Needy was watching them closely. Jennifer seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

“Fine. I’ll watch sleeping beauty while you chat with your girlfriend. But don’t take too long!”

*

Sam walked back toward Needy, but the look in her eyes stopped him getting too close. She watched him warily. Fearful. He remembered Castiel’s warning.

“What did he tell you about me?” Sam asked softly.

“He didn’t _tell_ me, he showed me,” she said. “You killed a woman. You drank her blood like a vampire.”

Sam felt his stomach churn. He swallowed hard. He couldn’t deny it.

“And Dean,” Needy went on, surprising him. “I saw him torturing an old man!”

Sam spread his hands, an _I’m harmless_ gesture. “And _you_ killed five men,” he pointed out gently. “I can’t deny what I’ve done and I won’t try to defend it, but there is a context. Will you let me explain?”

“Why does it matter what I think now? Your brother doesn’t want you to help me.”

“Dean’s pissed, but he doesn’t make decisions for me. I can explain that, too.”

Needy looked at the sleeping Jennifer. Sam followed her gaze. Jennifer more than any of them had been a pawn in this game: she never had a choice, never had a chance. He understood why Needy had been willing to bargain for her life. But she didn’t get much out of the deal. Would Jennifer ever recover from all she’d been through?

“You love her very much, don’t you?” Sam said quietly.

“She’s my sister,” Needy answered, her voice just as quiet.

Sam walked around the bed to Needy’s side. Those words cut down any reproach he could possibly give. He would have gone to Hell for Dean, without a second thought. And Dean had gone for him. It was fucked up, but Sam understood it. He knelt beside her chair; it made them almost the same height. “Is this what you wanted?” He nodded toward Jennifer, pale and unconscious in the bed.

Needy gazed at Jennifer, too. “I wanted the demon dead and Jen alive,” she answered. “I never thought…she’s alive now, isn’t she? Even if she never gets better, it’s what I agreed to.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered, seeing what she meant. He really fucking hated Lucifer! The crossroads demon was an evil bitch but at least she delivered on her bargains. Lucifer gave with one hand and took with the other, and Needy was right. She had what she bought: the letter of the contract, if not the spirit. The Devil’s in the details. Bastard!

Sam laid a hand on her shoulder. “We should talk, Needy, but not here. Can we go and get a coffee or something?”

Needy was reluctant to leave Jennifer’s side, but she agreed when Dean promised he and Castiel would stay with her. They ended up getting coffee from a vending machine and found an unoccupied room where they could talk privately. Sam dragged a chair across the room to block the door. Then he sat on the bed with Needy.

First, he had to address whatever Lucifer had told her about him. He wouldn’t try to defend the indefensible, but he could give her the full story. He didn’t want Needy to fear him.

“When we first met,” Sam began, remembering, “you knew that I’d killed. I remember you telling me about your vision of me.”

She nodded.

“I can’t defend what I did. It was murder. I was…a junkie desperate for my fix and killing that woman was the only way I could get what I needed. But if Lucifer told you she was an innocent woman, he didn’t tell you the whole truth. She was a demon.” Beginning with his addiction and the reasons for it, Sam told Needy everything. He held nothing back this time, editing the story only for brevity. He told her about Dean’s sojourn in Hell, too: he had to because Lucifer had shown her Dean torturing Alastair. And he explained about Castiel, what he was and what he’d done to help Dean stop the apocalypse. He didn’t mention that Castiel was the one who brought Dean out of Hell.

“So, he’s not an angel any more?” Needy asked.

“It’s complicated. I don’t really understand it all. Angels can fall and become human, but Cas hasn’t done that. But he disobeyed. Which means he’s cut off from Heaven somehow. So I’m not sure. Maybe he’s half-angel or something. It’s not something he talks about.”

“And you…you’re not…”

It was sweet that she couldn’t make herself say the words, Sam thought, but he had to be honest with her. “Everything he showed you about me is true, Needy. I’ve done terrible things, and I live with them. But I don’t think I’m evil. Neither is Dean.”

Needy tried to drink some more coffee, found her paper cup empty and crushed it in her fist. “He was very convincing, Sam. What I saw…it felt like you lied to me about everything. I thought you were trying to manipulate me for some…I don’t know. Some master plan.” She turned tear-filled eyes to him. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

_She_ was apologising to _him_?

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Needy.” Sam reached for her. Needy resisted for a moment, but then she collapsed against him. Sam held her close while she sobbed against his shoulder. He felt awkward, uncertain what to do. After everything she’d been through, her tears were understandable, but they weren’t helpful.

*

When Needy and that other guy left the room, Jennifer, who had heard everything, opened her eyes. The man remaining was watching her. For a moment, they just looked at each other.

“I’m Dean,” he told her. He reached into a pocket and held up an ID badge. Jennifer’s eyesight was still a bit blurry, but she thought it said FBI. “Are you well enough to talk to me?” he asked gently.

“Needy was…” Jennifer’s voice cracked. She coughed and tried again, “She was gonna get me some ice chips.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” he agreed. He left the room quickly, pausing to speak briefly with the third man on his way out.

When he came back, Jennifer took the promised ice chips from him gratefully. She got some ice on her tongue, letting it melt there before swallowing. “It needs a little tequila,” she commented. Her voice sounded better already.

She’d hoped to get a smile out of him. She had a bet with herself that he had a great smile. He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. “No tequila. I’ve got whiskey if you like.”

Jennifer smiled and held out the paper cup.

Dean produced a half-bottle of bourbon from somewhere under his coat and poured a little over her ice. Then he added a little more, took a swig for himself and screwed the cap back on the bottle.

“You’re not really FBI, are you?”

She’d been right: he did have a gorgeous smile.

“What gave it away? The whiskey?”

“No. You’re too cute to be a Fed.” She sipped her bourbon and ice. “And,” she added judiciously, “you’ve got too much of a bad-boy vibe going.”

His smile vanished. She wondered if she’d offended him.

“I know you remember,” he said seriously.

Suddenly Jennifer didn’t feel like smiling at all. “I remember everything,” she answered, wishing for more whiskey.

“Then you know why you’re alive.”

Jennifer held out her paper cup again.

Dean took the hint and poured more whiskey into it. “I have to ask you, Jennifer. You’re right, I’m not a Fed. _This_ is my job.”

Jennifer drank, they lay back on her pillows with a sigh. “I was there the whole time,” she said. Needy hadn’t been aware of her presence in the gymnasium, but the demon was there, lurking in the shadows. Watching. Forcing Jennifer to watch, too. “He told her she was special. He was going to make her something powerful.”

“And she fell for that?” Dean sounded disgusted.

“No! That’s just it. I was…I wanted to scream at her to say no, but I couldn’t…”

“I know. It wasn’t your fault.” He swigged more bourbon.

“Needy looked right at him and told him she knew he was Lucifer. She knew! And she took the deal anyway. Why would she do that?”

When she met Dean’s eyes, Jennifer felt like she was seeing him for the first time. Whatever she’d seen before was a mask. This was real, and it was pain: raw, bleeding pain.

When Dean spoke, to answer her question, it was as if each word was being dragged from him. “She took the deal because it was the only way she could live with herself.” Dean closed his eyes, turning his face away from her.

Jennifer didn’t understand why it hurt him so much. She thought she should ask, but didn’t. Instead, she focussed on her own issue. “But…why? I don’t understand.”

Dean looked at her then, and it wasn’t a friendly look. “She loves you.”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes, giving him the look that deserved. “I know that, genius. We’ve always been like sisters. But that’s not enough.”

Dean’s expression changed. Suddenly, he was taking her seriously. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, his tone suggesting it was a revelation to him. “Jennifer, was any of this her fault? I mean, what happened to you?”

“No! God, no. _I_ dragged her to Melody Lane that night. She even tried to stop me going with those guys.”

“But she _didn’t_ stop you, did she? Maybe she blames herself for that.” Dean took a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know. I hardly know her.”

_She blames herself._ Jennifer understood him, then. “She killed me,” she said quietly. “Or…she tried to.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean offered more bourbon, but Jennifer refused with a gesture. “Everyone believes you’re dead, you know? You understand…you can’t go home.”

Jennifer hadn’t considered it, but as soon as he said the words it was obvious. She could never return to Devil’s Kettle. She could never see her family again. The first would be okay. The second…she didn’t know. She still had Needy…

…But only for ten more years, which suddenly felt like no time at all.

*

When her tears subsided, Needy drew back from Sam. She gave a little embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Sam brushed her hair back from her face. “Needy, I have some questions. Is that okay?”

Needy wiped her eyes, looked up at him and frowned. “What happened to your face?”

Sam reached up to touch his cheek where Jennifer had clawed him. “I’d forgotten it,” he admitted. “The demon attacked us after you were taken. It’s nothing. Won’t even scar.”

Needy managed a watery smile. “I’m glad it won’t scar. That would be a real shame.” Her expression turned serious. “I’m really screwed, aren’t I?”

_Yeah, you’re really screwed._ Sam shifted a little closer to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Tell me the exact terms of your deal,” he suggested, without much hope. “What did you buy from him?”

Needy bit her lip. “Sam, I…I didn’t have a choice. What happened to Jennifer was all my fault and – ”

Sam interrupted her quickly. “You didn’t sacrifice her, Needy. No matter what you did after, this wasn’t your fault.” He stroked her arm, holding her firmly against his side. “I don’t need to know why you made a deal. Only the terms.”

“You _do_ need to know why. Sam, please!” She shifted on the bed so she could face him. She took his hand, pleading. “It’s important.”

Sam swallowed. He didn’t want to hear that he was responsible for another person going to Hell. But he owed Needy this much. “I’m listening.”

“I didn’t realise who he was at first. He talked like he was rescuing me.”

“From the evil Winchesters?” Sam guessed.

“Yeah. And he showed me what happened to Jen. Everything that happened. And he showed me what you are…were…and Dean…and me. What I could become. What I did to those Low Shoulder guys…”

“I know,” Sam said as her voice trailed off.

“Lucifer said I was the hand of divine justice. Or something like that. He talked about me doing that for real. I didn’t really follow. I mean, what I did was real, wasn’t it?”

Sam felt cold. He had a horrible feeling he understood what _for real_ meant. Lucifer created the first demon by twisting a human soul: Lilith. “Not in Lucifer’s world, I think,” he answered evasively. “So…what else did he show you?” he asked, to keep her on track.

“He said he’d kill the demon, and that would make me human again. I told him I could do that myself. Then he said I could, but if I did that Jennifer would die. He could do it so she’d live.” Needy looked up at Sam, tears in her eyes. “I figured I had nothing left to lose. So I asked what he wanted.”

“And he wanted your soul.”

Needy nodded and blinked away her tears. “I knew who he was then. I knew he wouldn’t let me go until I agreed. I was going to take the deal, but then I thought, maybe something good could come out of it.”

Sam frowned, not understanding her. “Something good?”

Needy hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe I screwed up, but it was all I could think of at the time. I was so scared, Sam…”

“Just tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “I said I wanted one more thing before I’d agree. If he was giving me ten years, he had to guarantee me ten years. I said I didn’t want to fall in front of a truck and end up in Hell ahead of schedule.”

In spite of himself, Sam smiled. “And Lucifer went for that?” It was smart, but those ten years were going to feel like ten weeks. Until the end.

“He did. But Sam, this is where I need you to understand _why_ I did it. Because it wasn’t about me. I thought…I thought that way I was buying time for _you_.”

“Me?” Sam didn’t understand.

“If I have ten years, then so do you. I mean, if he destroys the world, everyone dies, right?”

Sam stared at Needy, finally comprehending her logic. He had told her it was the end of the world. Needy thought that by making her deal on those terms she was postponing the apocalypse. Was she right? Sam frowned, searching for the flaws in her plan.

Lucifer was an archangel. He could raise the dead. Castiel brought Dean back, not merely as good as before, but with all his old injuries healed, from childhood scrapes to adult hunting scars. Lucifer was much more powerful than Castiel. He could have brought Jennifer back just as she was before the sacrifice. But he hadn’t. He’d brought her back just alive enough to die in Needy’s arms, had Castiel not been there.

There had to be a hundred ways Lucifer could keep to the letter of this agreement, while breaking the spirit of it as he had with Jennifer. He had only promised Needy she would live, not that anyone else would, or that she’d have any quality of life. The chances were good she hadn’t bought Sam anything.

But it was still an incredibly brave thing for her to do. Unwillingly, he thought of Dean’s deal, of how in his desperation Dean accepted the worst terms possible. Needy negotiated well. Sam took her into his arms and held her tight for a long moment, feeling her warmth against his body.

“I wish you hadn’t made that deal, Needy. But, God, that was smart!” He wouldn’t spoil her hope. He wouldn’t tell her anything more. She deserved that much. “Just…one more question, okay?”

“Okay,” she answered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Sam moved away from her so he could look into her eyes. “Needy, this is really important. Did you make this deal with Lucifer directly? No other demon involved?”

“Yes.” She meets his gaze, looking very confused. “Why does that matter?”

It mattered because it meant only Lucifer could hold her contract. It was more than Sam had when Dean made his deal. It wasn’t much…in some ways it reduced her options. You could trap a crossroads demon, force it to re-negotiate. Trying that with Lucifer would be suicidal at best.

“I knew what I was signing up for,” Needy said softly. “I’m going to Hell.”

Sam didn’t say, _Not if I can help it._ He couldn’t let himself think that way. Needy wasn’t Dean. What he did say was, “You have no idea what that means.”

She gave a crooked, forced smile. “I haven’t been to Mass for a long time, but I was raised Catholic. I know what it means.” She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand, as if she was about to kiss him. “It’s okay, Sam. The whole world’s going to Hell anyway, right?”

*

When they returned to Jennifer’s room, Dean was in the corridor talking to a couple of uniformed cops. Castiel was at his side, trying to look like he belonged there. He caught Sam’s eye as they approached then looked away quickly – a signal Sam understood. It meant _Stay the Hell out of my way_. Sam guided Needy away. He could trust Dean to take care of this.

“Who called the cops?” Needy demanded as he hustled her around the corner.

“Probably the first doctor who examined Jennifer,” Sam told her. “It would have been obvious she was stabbed.” He positioned them so he could see Dean’s reflection in a window. “Needy, what did you tell them happened to her?”

“She fell.” Needy shrugged.

Sam couldn’t help smiling. “I bet they bought _that_.”

“Well, of course not. I told them an obvious lie so I’d have time to come up with a more convincing story.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Sam was impressed. “What name did you give for her?”

“I used her right name. On TV that’s one of the questions they ask when you wake up so I didn’t risk lying about it. But I misspelled it. Czech like Czechoslovakia. And I’m Anita Blake.”

Sam nodded. “Good.” He saw movement in the reflection. “The cops are leaving. Let’s see what kind of story Dean came up with.”

Dean ushered them all into Jennifer’s room before he would tell them anything. Needy went straight to Jennifer’s side. She was awake, sitting up in bed with a cup of ice chips.

“Jennifer is a kidnap victim,” Dean announced. “Her family is in Iowa and I’m the FBI agent in charge of getting her back. I told the cops Needy works for me – kind of a _21 Jump Street_ deal. So she’s here to protect Jennifer. It’ll be enough to keep the cops off your back, Needy, unless one of ’em’s bright enough to call the real Feds. Can you keep up that story?”

She nodded. “Yes. I think so.” She looked up at her friend. “Jennifer?”

“I can lie to the cops,” Jennifer agreed. She raised her cup. “Can someone get me more ice chips?”

*

Needy stayed with Jennifer all day. Dean’s deception gave the hospital staff reason to accept her presence and if any of them doubted the story, none showed it. It probably helped that Jennifer was able to confirm she wanted Needy around.

Together, they watched TV and talked about who was doing whom on _Dr Sexy M.D._ and whether Brad and Angelina might split. It was almost like old times. But there was a giant elephant in the room with them and they were both pretending it wasn’t there. Neither of them mentioned Devil’s Kettle or their old friends or even Sam and Dean. Neither of them mentioned the reason Jennifer was in a hospital bed instead of a grave.

It was okay. It was a relief, really. Needy didn’t want to relive the horror they’d both been through. She didn’t want to talk about the horror she still had ahead of her. She was just happy to have Jennifer alive.

The occasional interruptions were welcome, though. The doctor came in three times to check on Jennifer and reassured them both she was doing fine. Someone came in with breakfast and later with lunch: only for Jen, though. Needy bought soda and snacks from a vending machine.

Jennifer lifted something on her fork, looked at it and then dropped it back onto the plastic plate.

Needy watched her, concerned. “What’s up, Vagisil?” she asked brightly. The affectionate nickname should have fetched a smile and a teasing reply. It didn’t.

Jennifer sighed and leaned back on her pillows. “As of right now,” she announced, “I’m officially vegan.” She pushed the tray away with a grimace. “God, I can’t even stand the sight of…”

_Of meat._ Needy stood and examined the contents of Jennifer’s tray. She salvaged the small bowl of green Jell-o and its plastic spoon, handing both to Jennifer. Then she carried the tray as far away from Jen as the room allowed. She didn’t need to ask why. She didn’t even want to _think_ about why.

Jennifer smiled wanly. “Thanks, Monistat.”

“I’ll tell the nurse they got your diet sheet wrong. It’ll be fine.” She took her seat again.

Jennifer gazed down into her Jell-o for a moment. “Needy,” she began.

_Don’t do this, Jen_. “What’s up?”

“I remember. All of it.”

Needy leaned forward, reaching for Jennifer’s hand. “So do I,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice steady.

Jennifer squeezed her hand. “I remember what I said to you. This wasn’t your fault, Needy. None of it was your fault.”

Needy swallowed. “I…I _killed_ you, Jen,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Jennifer’s mouth quirked in a quick smile. “Okay. That part was your fault. But I deserved it. I meant how this started. I don’t want you beating yourself up because I did something retarded.”

Needy felt tears sting her eyes, the old guilt rising. “If I hadn’t told those guys…”

“It wasn’t you, Needy. Let me tell you.”

She nodded, her tears spilling over to fall, silent, down her cheeks. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“I was the one who got into that van with them. _You_ tried to stop me.”

Needy nodded again. That much was true. She had begged Jennifer not to go with those creeps. She’d even tried to distract her with a promise of nachos at El Ojo’s – Jen was addicted to nachos with Badger Sauce – but nothing worked. Jennifer just told her to shut up and got into the big scary van with its black-painted windows as if it meant nothing.

“When we drove off,” Jennifer went on, her grip tightening on Needy’s hand, “I got scared. They had all this weird stuff, spell books and a skull and shit. I thought they were gonna rape me.” She fell silent for a while, her eyes unfocussed.

Needy held her hand and waited patiently.

“I didn’t remember what you told me in the bar. I know you warned me he only wanted me because he thought I was a virgin. But I was so scared I forgot that part. So when one of them asked…_I_ told them I was. I figured maybe if they thought I’d be a lousy lay they’d let me go.”

They’d both believed that, Needy realised. It was what they’d been taught all their lives: men only want one thing from women. If a guy was evil it meant he’d beat you or rape you. It wasn’t supposed to mean he was a Devil-worshipper looking for a virgin sacrifice.

Some of the burden of guilt Needy carried for so long began to lift. She gazed at Jennifer, unable to speak.

Jennifer put the untouched bowl of Jell-o down and with her free hand she reached out toward Needy’s face. It seemed like an effort. Needy rose and came closer. Jennifer’s fingers delicately wiped away her tears.

“Still my Biff, Monistat?”

Needy smiled through her tears. “Always.” And she meant it.


	9. Chapter 9

Why do we keep up this charade?  
How do we tell apart the time to leave from the time to wait?  
What does tomorrow want from me?  
What does it matter what I see?  
If it can’t be my design  
Tell me where do we draw the line?

Poets of the Fall, _Where Do We Draw The Line?_

Sam never dreamed. He only had nightmares.

People he loved burst into flames on ceilings. He saw himself with yellow eyes, revelling in the flames, untouched and unharmed. He spent months with Lilith’s voice taunting him in his dreams. He saw himself burn her demonic soul over and over, but this time he knew exactly what he was doing. He laughed with Ruby triumphant at his side as they broke the final seal together.

That night, when he finally sank into an exhausted sleep, his nightmares were Hell. Literally.

Sam didn’t have actual memories of Hell, never having been there. Although he had occasionally wondered where exactly he was during those days he lay dead before Dean brought him back, he had no memory at all of that time and would probably never know. But he knew about Hell. He had what Dean had told him of thirty years under Alastair’s knife. He had what he read in Ruby’s ebony eyes. Most vivid of all, he had what he gleaned from Meg when she was riding around in his skin…and he had an active imagination that seemed all too eager to fill in the details he was missing. In his nightmare he walked through Hell itself, though its flames did not touch him. He saw the pit with its lake of fire. He smelled brimstone and burning flesh. Demons reached out to him, begging for respite. Human souls hung in tatters, alive and aware, no matter how many pieces they were in. The sounds of Hell were worse than the sights: Sam heard the screams of the damned and the wet sounds of tearing flesh. He heard the voices of the torturers and the sizzle of red-hot blades.

And he saw their faces, those who still had faces. Strangers to him, but still human. He saw their expressions of agony and despair, saw mouths try to form words without air to breathe. Finally, there was one face among the multitude that was not a stranger. He found Needy, her blonde curls burning, her body a torn ruin of flesh and bone. This was the fate she had bought for herself, and Sam knew she understood – too late – that nothing was worth this. Sam saw Needy screaming on the rack and he could not look away or close his eyes. He wished he had paid more attention, seen this coming somehow in time to stop it.

“Don’t kid yourself, Sammy. You saw it coming.”

Sam whirled when the familiar voice spoke from his side. Somehow, it seemed fitting that his father would find him here, amid all this horror. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Sam that John could hear his thoughts.

John’s eyes were almost black – not demonic black, just dilated in the darkness – the whites of his eyes bloodshot from the smoke-filled air. He seemed to be neither demon nor damned soul; a puzzle Sam pushed aside. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that John was here.

He answered John’s words defensively. “How could I see this coming? I didn’t know she’d do something like this!”

John pointed toward Needy as a demon ripped chunks of flesh from her limbs. His gesture was an order. _Look at her. _“You of all people know the signs, son.”

Sam couldn’t look. He couldn’t. Hearing her scream cut off as her throat was severed was bad enough. Breath whistled through her torn throat; she still tried to scream.

It was true, Sam did know the signs. In the weeks and months after they lost their dad, he watched Dean break – and that was before they knew about John’s deal. Sam understood the impossible weight Dean carried in that year. He knew that the tailspin of the first few months had been a sign that something was deeply wrong – and that signal Sam had noticed, and tried to deal with. But Dean got better. It seemed like he was healing. Hindsight was always 20/20 and Sam knew now that Dean’s apparent recovery had been a mask calculated to make Sam quit asking questions Dean wasn’t ready to answer. The cracks in Dean’s psyche were still there and when Sam died, Dean shattered. And Sam had known, deep down, that would happen.

But that was Dean. He’d known Dean all his life and knew him as well as he knew himself. He’d known Needy less than a month. How could he possibly have seen the same signs in her? How could he have recognised them if they were there?

“What was she like when you first met her, Sammy?” John pressed his advantage. “Not a normal, happy girl, was she?” His eyes followed the demon as it continued to work on her. Sam did not look.

Sam frowned. “No. She was in trouble.” More than in trouble, he realised. Needy was a wreck. He remembered the day she walked into Hoyt’s Bar: her whole demeanour screamed trouble. She was dirty and starving. The way she rejected Sam’s half-hearted offer of friendship…

“And you let her go.” The accusation was flat.

Sam rounded on him, the familiar anger flaring. “Yeah, I let her go,” he snapped. “What else was I supposed to do, Dad? I had no idea her trouble was supernatural. I helped her as much as I could and she took off.”

“But she didn’t take off, did she?” John challenged. “She found you again.”

“She tried to kill me.”

“Bullshit. You know what she did to that rock band. She sliced-and-diced five men in as many seconds. If she wanted you dead, you didn’t have a chance. And you know it.”

Truthfully, Sam hadn’t realised it until he heard Dean’s description of the murder scene. But he knew it now. Dad was right: with her demonic speed, Needy could have cut his throat before he knew she was there. “Okay,” he conceded reluctantly. “You’re right about that.”

“So if she wasn’t trying to kill you, why’d she attack? Why that way? And why you?”

Sam tackled the last question first because he knew the answer. “Why me? She told me she saw blood on my hands.”

“Right. She knew you were a killer. So…?” John watched him intently.

Needy screamed for help, screamed Sam’s name. He couldn’t ignore her any longer. He knew it was useless. Hell was for eternity. But maybe he could give her some respite. Just for a moment. Sam began to turn, intent on going to her aid.

John grabbed his arm. “Why did she attack you that night?”

“I’ve got to help her!” Sam struggled against John’s vicelike grip.

“You _can’t_ help her. This is Hell and she bought her ticket. Focus, Sammy.”

He tried, though it cost everything he had to ignore her begging for help. The night she attacked him, Needy said she wanted his blood, but Sam knew that wasn’t the answer Dad was waiting for. So what else happened that night? She came at him with a knife. He took her down, but Needy kept fighting. So Sam pulled a gun and let her know he would use it. That stopped her, but the second she thought his guard was down she’d attacked again.

Then he understood what John was getting at. Her attack on Sam was Needy’s version of suicide-by-cop. She’d chosen him because she knew he could take her down, and because she believed him a murderer. She expected him to kill her without hesitation.

And Sam knew then that John was right. The clues had all been there. Sam should have seen the signs. He should have known this was coming.

He could have prevented this.

When Needy asked him about the scar on his back Sam could have told her everything, let her see that these deals always go bad: that no matter how important it seems the price is always too high. He could have shown her how Dean’s deal broke them both. But he chose not to.

So she faced Lucifer defenceless.

“She was looking for a way out,” Sam said. “She was alone, and she thought she was turning into something demonic. She wanted me to end it.” Another scream ripped through the air. Sam closed his eyes, not that it helped any. “But I tried to help her, Dad. She knew I would help her!”

“Does that make you blameless?” The contempt in John’s voice made it clear what he thought.

“No. No, but…”

“But nothing. Why do you think the Devil went to so much trouble, Sammy? What good is her soul to him?”

“Don’t.”

“Fine. Run away from your responsibility. Again. My son the coward.”

Sam found he was clenching his fists. “I am not a coward!”

“Then tell me why. Say it!”

“I don’t know it’s because of me. It makes sense, Dad, I admit it, but I don’t _know_!”

“Don’t you? Doesn’t this happen to everyone you love?”

Oh, that hurt. Fuck, yes. Sam’s mother, dead before Sam was even old enough to know her, had sealed her fate with her own deal long before Sam was born. His father sold his soul to the yellow-eyed demon only days after Sam refused to shoot him and end it for all of them. Dean…

But that was _family_. Sure, Sam had stormed the gates of Hell itself to save Dean (not that it did any good), but that was for Dean. Sam would have done anything, _anything _to save Dean.

The sounds and smells of Hell faded from his awareness as a bitter smile touched Sam’s lips. He turned to the image of his father and let him see he got the message. “That’s a bit pathetic, you know. Did you really believe I’d say yes just to save a girl I screwed for one night?”

He was no longer looking at his father. Well, it never had been his father. Just another mask.

Lucifer looked back at him calmly. “No, of course not, Sam. You’re going to say yes because in the end, you’ll know there’s no other choice you can make.”

“I am _never _going to say yes to you!” Sam insisted hotly.

“But you will, Sam.” He gestured and the scene before them froze into silence. Sam looked back, not because he wanted to see, but to show Lucifer he was unmoved. Needy’s body was almost whole again, clothed only in her own blood, her face frozen in a scream of despair. But the sight could not affect Sam. He knew now that this was just a dream.

“When the time comes, you will say yes,” Lucifer asserted confidently. “And when you’re almost there, I think you’ll remember this moment.”

The Hell of it was, Lucifer was right. Sam couldn’t imagine anything that would make him say yes to Lucifer, but this was in his head now. Dream or not, he would remember this scene. Knowing that by saying yes, he might save Needy…who in spite of his words, was a lot more to him than some girl he’d screwed once, would eat at his conscience every time he said no.

Of course, he had another way to save her soul. Kill the Devil.

Conveniently, that was already on Sam’s to-do list.

*

Sam had his arm around Needy’s shoulders when Dean walked into the motel room. He’d been sitting like that for a while, holding her in silence while they waited. Needy seemed comforted by his presence, but she was on-edge because she was separated from Jennifer. She was worried the plan would go wrong somewhere along the way. For his part, Sam had every confidence in Dean and Castiel, and using Castiel’s skills to remove Jennifer from the hospital was much safer than trying to sneak past security.

Three days after major surgery, Jennifer was well enough to walk. Her recovery was, well, supernatural. It baffled the doctors, and Sam was worried someone would start asking awkward questions. So they were getting her out of there a little sooner than was wise.

Jennifer turned out to be a young woman with very strong opinions. She approved of Needy’s relationship with Sam…although that wasn’t the way she phrased it. Sam didn’t much care what she thought but it mattered to Needy…and he rather liked having her close. They both knew they would have to part in a few hours.

“When you get to wherever you’re going,” Sam instructed, “I want you to rent a post office box. It doesn’t cost much. Then text message the details to Dean. Dean, not me.”

Needy frowned. “Why not you?”

“I’ve told you what’s coming. If things go bad, Needy, you don’t want me knowing where you are.”

Dean walked in without knocking and Needy jumped. Sam moved away from her; the conversation was over.

“I’m done,” Dean announced. He offered a paper bag to Sam.

Sam took the bag and opened it. There was an ID for Jennifer – the pictures were a little grainy, but recognisably her. There were two disposable cell phones. The keys to a car – Dean had helpfully attached a label with the license plate. And about $500 in cash. Sam handed each item to Needy as he removed them from the bag.

“Thanks, Dean.”

Needy echoed him. “Yes. Thank you. I’m not sure where we can go yet, but…”

“California,” Jennifer said.

Jennifer and Castiel appeared in the room side by side. She looked tired, but a hundred times better than a few days before. She was wearing a little makeup and her long, black hair was brushed to a glossy shine. She wore black jersey leggings with a turquoise top just long enough to cover the bandages around her middle.

Needy leapt up. “Are you okay?”

“It’s a cool way to travel.” She raised her arms above her head, stretched and smiled briefly at Castiel. “Kinda pinches, though.”

“Why California?” Sam asked her.

“If we’ve got to hide for the rest of our lives, I want to do it someplace where there’s sun. And a beach.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “It’s a long drive, but the Torino is in good condition. Take a long route. Stay off the interstate and pay cash at motels. You’ll make it.”

“I guess that’s a plan, then,” Needy agreed.

Sam wrote on the paper bag: his phone number and one of many mail drops their father used to maintain. He and Dean didn’t use them much, but they still checked each one when they were in the area. He handed the paper to Needy. “I know I said don’t stay in touch, but if you need help, you can call me. If…if I survive what’s coming, you can reach me or Dean at that post box. It might take a while for us to get the message, but we will.”

At the mention of the coming war Needy’s smile vanished, but she took the paper from him. “I’ll remember,” she promised.

Sam turned to Castiel, then. “Cas, there’s something I want to ask you about. I’ve had some time to think and I need your help.”

Castiel inclined his head slightly: he would listen, but wasn’t willing to commit himself.

Sam understood that. “What you did for Dean and me – can you still do that?” Sam saw Castiel’s worried glance at Dean and realised he’d misunderstood. “Cas, I don’t mean that! I wouldn’t ask that, not now. I’m talking about the protection you gave to both of us.” He didn’t want to be specific, not in front of the girls. He had a feeling one or both of them would object if he explained he wanted an angel to carve Enochian warding symbols into their bones.

Castiel’s frown vanished. “I can. But understand, Sam. When the time comes, it will not save her.”

The small hope Sam had held onto vanished. “But until then, it will, right? You said he can use Needy to find us. That’s what I want to keep from happening.”

“Yes,” Castiel answered simply.

“What exactly are you saying, Sam?” Needy demanded. She moved closer to Jennifer protectively.

Sam turned to them. “Castiel can make it so no demon or angel can find you. At least not by supernatural means. You won’t be invisible, just hard to track down.”

“What’s the catch?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Needy knew he’d been deliberately vague and Sam could tell she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Truth, then. “It hurts,” he answered honestly. “A lot, but only for a few seconds. And if you ever need an x-ray you’ll have a lot of explaining to do. But after everything that happened, I think it’s worth it.”

She still looked suspicious, but she looked at Jennifer. “I’m in if you are.”

Jennifer looked at Sam. She seemed very vulnerable. “Will this thing stop them…getting in me again?”

Sam understood that fear all too well. “I don’t know,” he told her truthfully.

“It will prevent demons from possessing you,” Castiel confirmed. He said nothing about angels.

Sam nodded. “We’ll make you both as safe as we can,” he promised Jennifer. For the next ten years, anyway. He wondered if Needy had told Jennifer about her deal. Or if she intended to. She hadn’t picked up on Castiel’s allusion to the deal.

Jennifer nodded. “Okay, then.” She looked at Castiel. “If this is gonna hurt, can you do it before the pain meds wear off?”

*

There was mud spattered down the sides of the Impala, heaviest around the wheels. Dean rubbed his finger across the caked mud, grimacing. He unlocked the trunk and tossed his bag in.

Sam watched, uncertain what to do. Maybe Dean was right: they should go their separate ways. Sam should make it as difficult as possible for Lucifer to find him, at least until he could figure out how to kill an archangel. Or, if all else failed, he needed to find a way to kill _himself_, and do it so completely Lucifer couldn’t bring him back. The first meant staying away from the hunting world and the second most certainly meant staying away from Dean. But on the other hand, if Sam had learned nothing else from all this, he had learned that giving up hunting was no longer an option for him. He could try to stay out, but stuff always seemed to find him.

Dean turned, one hand on the trunk as if he were about to close it. He saw Sam hovering there and seemed to realise that they still hadn’t talked about the future.

“Uh…can I give you a ride somewhere?” Dean suggested awkwardly.

That answered Sam’s question, but he wasn’t willing to cave. Not just yet. He heaved his duffel into the trunk. “I guess so.”

“Where are you headed?”

Sam had no destination in mind. He named the first city that popped into his head. “Detroit.”

Dean gave him a quizzical look. “What’s in Detroit?”

Sam shrugged. “Ice hockey. I like the Red Wings.”

“Weird. Well, hop in. It’s not far.” Dean slammed the trunk closed.

For the first few miles, Sam simply enjoyed the familiarity of being back in the car, back on the road, with Dean at his side. Even the music, which he usually merely tolerated, sounded good to him. But he knew he had only the length of this journey to figure out if they could stay together. Sam knew what he wanted. In spite of his rationalisations, he wanted – needed – to be with Dean. It was the only human connection he had left.

Time to bite the bullet. Sam turned the music down, just enough to let them talk. “Dean, I want back in.”

Dean sighed impatiently. “I don’t know if that’s a good plan.”

“It could be a terrible plan. But I want in, Dean. I’m a hunter. Didn’t I just prove I can do it?”

“Sam, you were always a Hell of a hunter. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Dean answered only with silence. After a moment, he reached toward the volume control, a sure signal he considered the conversation closed.

Sam stopped him. “Dean, please talk to me,” he begged. “If this is something that can’t be fixed, I…I understand. But at least tell me what you’re thinking.”

Dean glanced at him, once, then back to the road. He set his jaw grimly and for a moment Sam thought he would get no answer. Then Dean huffed out a breath loudly. “You know how badly things have sucked for us? How long? I mean, pretty much since we lost Dad, right?” The words sounded like a challenge.

Sam thought about it. First, they lost Dad, which sent Dean into a major emotional tailspin. Around the time Dean started to recover from that loss, Sam met Madison, who he’d loved and had to kill. So, yeah, not many bright spots in that particular year. The next year started with Sam being dumped into the yellow-eyed demon’s celebrity death match and getting himself killed. Dean sold his soul and an army of demons escaped from Hell. Sam couldn’t think of any real bright spot in the year that followed, either: even remembering his desperate, doomed quest to break Dean’s contract was painful. Sam couldn’t argue about the rest.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s been a rough few years.”

“After we left River Pass I was happy, Sam. I mean really, honestly having fun. I didn’t even remember what that’s like.”

It was Sam’s turn to answer with silence, because there was nothing he could say to that. It fucking hurt. Dean was saying that Sam made him miserable. There wasn’t any argument or logic that could change anything. Sam watched the landscape rush by the speeding car and a heavy weight grew in his chest. Dean didn’t want him around. Dean was leaving him.

Always before, it had been Sam’s decision to leave. The only time they were parted against Sam’s will was the night Lilith’s hellhounds killed Dean. And look how far Sam had gone to quench _that _pain. His thirst for revenge brought them to the edge of Armageddon.

Now only two decisions stood between the world and that final battle.

Sam swallowed, hard, but said nothing.

The Impala sped on toward Detroit.

*

When Dean reached across to change the tape, Sam broke his long silence.

“Dean, can I ask you something?” That he would ask at all betrayed his hesitation; usually Sam would go straight for whatever he wanted to say. But although he was desperately curious, Sam wasn’t quite sure how to broach this subject.

“Anything,” Dean answered. He slid a new tape into the stereo but didn’t push the play button. He just waited for Sam while watching the road ahead.

“That night at the bar,” Sam began, “the open mic. What the Hell did you do?”

Dean gave him an odd look. “_Things Have Changed_ and – ”

“Dude, that is not what I mean!”

“Well, then give me a clue, ’cause I don’t remember doing anything that wasn’t part of the plan.”

Sam stared at his brother. No. No way could he have imagined what he felt during Dean’s performance. It wasn’t just Sam: Needy had felt it, too. Was it possible that Dean could have projected something so intensely sexual, but not known he was doing it?

“Dean,” Sam explained patiently, “everyone in that bar was mesmerised. Even I felt it. And Needy said – ” he broke off, not sure he should repeat Needy’s words.

But it was too late; Dean had already heard. “What?” he demanded. “What did she say?”

“She asked me if you were part incubus,” Sam admitted, embarrassed.

The look Dean gave him then was not what Sam expected. Dean should have been offended by the suggestion. He should have been angry. Since Sam knew his brother’s ego when it came to women, he would also have settled for flattered or pleased. But Dean’s expression was exasperated, as if he thought Sam had missed something blindingly obvious.

Suddenly, Dean looked at Sam more intently. He seemed about to ask a question but then he laughed, a genuine, delighted laugh. He pulled over to the side of the road, but left the Impala’s engine idling as he turned to Sam, his smile now wicked.

“So tell me, Sammy, just how good _was_ it for you?”

Sam felt himself redden and returned Dean’s look furiously. Wanting a little payback, he didn’t answer directly. “You remember when we first found Chuck’s _Supernatural_ books?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”

“You remember those other stories? On the internet?”

“Yeah,” Dean repeated, his tone wary now.

“Do you _really_ want me to spell it out?”

Dean caved. “I’ll beg you not to,” he said quickly. “Sam, I’m really sorry. I never meant – ”

“Screw the apology! Dean, I want to know what you did!”

Dean shook his head. “You’re not usually this slow, Sam. Shoulda listened to Blondie.”

Sam felt cold suddenly. Dean couldn’t mean… “Only one of us is that kind of freak,” he insisted.

Dean gave him that exasperated look again. “Sam. Do you really think I’d put myself out there as succubus chow if I didn’t have some kind of protection?”

“What’s that got to do with…?” Sam stopped, beginning to understand.

“I painted a mirror sigil on the guitar, Sam. Geez!”

“Dad always said they don’t work,” Sam objected, not exactly reassured.

“No,” Dean corrected, “he said they’re unreliable. Which they are, because it only works for certain kinds of demon. I double checked with Bobby. A mirror sigil works for a succubus.”

Sam took a breath. Okay. That made sense. Except… “Wait. To do that you had to know what kind of demon Jennifer was. Before that night.”

“Obvious much? I followed her trail from Devil’s Kettle. I knew exactly what she was.”

So Dean had used a mirror sigil to turn the succubus’ power back on her. She had tried to seduce Dean, and had been seduced instead. But Dean didn’t have much experience with that kind of power and his attempt to channel it had been poorly focussed. So it wasn’t just the demon who got hit by the reflected magical seduction. It was everyone in range.

Including Sam.

Understanding didn’t make Sam any more comfortable with what he’d felt that night. A little warning would have been nice!

Dean turned the car back onto the road. “You are such a girl, Sam. Really, I know I’m good, but – ”

“Dean, I swear to God. I will break that guitar over your head!”

Dean was still laughing when they crossed the city line into Detroit.

 

**~ End ~**


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